


The New Class

by Silver Lurker (Rachelmap2)



Category: Person of Interest (TV), Spider-Man (Comicverse), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Rare Pairings, fake/pretend threats of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachelmap2/pseuds/Silver%20Lurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowledge is power, and power is dangerous. Most people learn it as adults. A few are forced to learn early on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Protégé](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101880) by [araxes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/araxes/pseuds/araxes). 



> This work was actually inspired by two fan works. I don't want to post the other one because it would spoil part of the plot. This is my first time to post here, and I'm not sure about the site etiquette for citations or how to find a beta reader. If anybody has any advice on that or anything else, I'll gladly hear it.
> 
> ETA: found a booboo in Chapter 1 and had to fix it. Sigh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new number is hard to keep track of.

Archive footage  
2 May (Thursday) 06:53  
CCTV MHS 1, 2 & 4  
A boy in a Midtown letter jacket is on the school grounds, bouncing a basketball and staring at the buildings as he walks around. He trips on a piece of debris and falls face first into into a flower bed.

 

17 May (Friday) 07:10  
Streetcam:Ingram Street, Forest Hills, Queens, New York City  
White Hyundai Sonata license HGT-4424  
Asset: Reese, John  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen

 

Shaw bit into her apple. “So tell us about this Parker kid, Finch. He looks pretty young.”

“ _He's 16, a junior at Midtown High School. He seems to mostly get around by skateboard or public transportation, so you should have no trouble following him by bicycle, Ms Shaw.”_

“Hmph,” she grunted. “It's still dorky.”

“ _But unobtrusive, which is what the situation calls for.”_

“How many other people live here?" asked Reese.

“ _Unfortunately, just one, and she's left for work already.”_

“Unfortunately?”

“ _His parents died in a plane crash before he turned five. The circumstances were… murky. For the last eleven years, he's lived with his uncle—his father's older brother—and his aunt. The uncle was gunned down about a month and a half ago. Now he only has his aunt. He is, essentially, an orphan. May Parker works swing shifts at a staffing agency.”_

“Money?” asked Shaw.

“ _There's not much. Every penny going into the family bank account goes out before the next payday.”_

“Could be a motive for him then, if he's the perpetrator.” Reese rubbed his mouth. “His uncle was murdered, you say?”

“ _Yes. Mr. Parker came onto the scene just after his uncle was shot. Witnesses described the killer: closer to forty than thirty, big, long blond hair, scruffy beard and sunglasses. I'm sending you the picture the police artist drew.”_

Reese's phone buzzed, and he opened the message Finch sent.

“Don't know him,” said Shaw, and took another bite.

“ _No. He was probably a transient. Root has not been able to find him anywhere in or near the city.”_

“How's the kid take it?”

“ _He was distraught, by all accounts.”_

“Friends?” asked Reese.

“ _He's pretty much a loner. I can't tell if that's by his own choice or by everybody else's. He started seeing a girl briefly three weeks ago, but he stopped calling her a few days later. There's also a student who seems to have a bit of a crush on him. He's mentioned in several posts to her weblog, including a fight in the schoolyard that was posted on the eleventh of March. Here.”_

Reese played a shaky video of a large boy with a crew cut holding a much smaller one upside-down. He was pushing his face into a plate of what looked like spaghetti with tomato sauce. The crowd around them was chanting “Eat it.” at the smaller boy.

“That him? The little one?” asked Shaw.

“ _No. Wait just a moment.”_

The sound from the recording was small and tinny, but they could hear the crew cut boy yell, “Eat your vegetables Gordon, come on! Hey Parker, come on, get a picture of this!” to a boy in the crowd with an old-fashioned camera on a shoulder strap.

“So that's Parker.”

“ _That's him.”_

They watched as Crew Cut—Flash, as it turned out his name was, continued demanding that Parker take a picture of the boy he was humiliating and Parker continued refusing to do it. Then—

“Put him down!” Parker paused. “Eugene!”

The crowd abruptly stopped chanting and gasped. This was obviously the worst thing Peter could have said to the larger boy, and by the look on his face, he knew what was coming. Retaliation was swift as Eugene tossed Gordon aside, punched Parker down twice and kicked him in the side as he tried to get up again.

“I'm still not taking the picture,” he wheezed.

“ _Aw, look at him!”_ They could hear Root chirp over the speaker, _“He's so cute, like a little baby Reese all sticking up for the defenseless. Only without the fighting skills or the snappy suit.”_

“Kid's got guts,” said Reese.

“Kid needs training,” said Shaw.

“Stay down Parker!” Eugene snarled and turned to challenge the crowd. “Who wants one more?!”

The fight—if it could be called that—came to a sudden end as a pretty blonde with her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail stalked forward from the and confronted the raging boy about his poor preparation for their last tutoring session. Eugene and everybody else turned and left shortly after. Parker was struggling to get up when the video clip ended.

“ _The blonde is Gwen Stacy, the student he became involved with later. Her father was Captain Stacy, so I've asked Detective Fusco to check to see whether any of the men he worked with knows our number.”_

“What are we thinking, Harold?” asked Reese.

“ _Well… We could be looking at another Columbine situation here, but there's nothing in his online presence to suggest it. I'll keep digging, but he doesn't look at all like the type to be planning mass murder.”_

“He has motive to go after this Eugene, at least.”

“ _I don't know… Missy Kallenback—it's her blog—wrote that Parker somehow retaliated against Eugene in the gym some weeks later. She didn't post any video for that, though, just a picture of the aftermath.”_

“He retaliated violently?”

“ _Apparently not. She said that Eugene ruined a project she was working on and wouldn't apologize for it. And then...” Finch's voice trailed off. “'Ha-ha! Pete made Flash look like a total feeb.' He also broke the basketball backboard somehow. There's a picture of that. The general consensus is that he probably sabotaged it, but the school dropped the subject because his uncle was murdered that night.”_

“Does Missy mention any other interactions?”

“ _Two more. There was a brief confrontation the next day. Mr. Parker pushed him up against some lockers, but then left after he said something to him. And then the next week Eugene gave Mr. Parker a black eye, but Ms Kallenback only heard about it second hand and she doesn't know why he did it. There may not even be a reason. She thinks he has an anger management problem. I'm inclined to agree.”_

Shaw shook her head. “So Parker could be tired of Eugene's shit.”

Reese frowned. “Or Eugene could be the danger. I'd put him on the 'possible' list.”

“ _Already done_ _.”_ Finch sighed. _“_ _Mr. Parker's such_ _an easy_ _target._ _It could also be that_ _he has_ _annoyed a_ _worse_ _bully or that he's attracted a_ _nother_ _predator.”_

“Another predator, Finch?”

“ _Yes… that was in the other file Fusco sent. When our number was twelve, a much older boy he used to be friends with attempted to molest him. He told his aunt and uncle. They reported the incident right away, and the boy was arrested. He and his mother left the state before the court appearance was scheduled.”_

“Where is he now?” Shaw looked as if she were contemplating homicide.

“ _Unknown.”_

“Did Peter get any counseling after that?” asked Reese.

“ _There's no record of it. The fact that he spoke up immediately and was listened to suggests that he was brought up in a supportive environment, though it has obviously become more precarious of late.”_

“ _Wow, this guy's life sucks, doesn't it? No family, no friends, no money, broke up with his girlfriend, and can't fight his way out of a paper bag.”_ Gen said over the speaker. _“Does he have anything going for him besides guts and being kind of cute?”_

“ _Brains,”_ Finch replied. _“His IQ tested very high, and he's on the Honors List. Up until his uncle was killed, he was first in his class in maths and all the sciences except biology—he was second there, near the top in English and history… the only class he did poorly in is gym. His grades haven't recovered yet, but he's still a likely candidate to receive some kind of scholarship if he chooses to go to university.”_

Reese smirked. “Yeah, that'd make him popular, all right. And look at the way he deliberately antagonized a bigger kid to draw him away from a little one. That may suggest a hero complex. He didn't call for a teacher either. Maybe he'll grow up to be a wealthy vigilante. Are you feeling paternal at all, Harold?”

“ _I really don't know what you mean, Mr. Reese.”_

Shaw ignored their byplay. “Maybe he did it to impress a girl.”

“ _If so, the relationship didn't last.”_

“There he goes,” said Shaw. She and Reese watched as a gangly boy in jeans and a hoodie came out of the house. “Huh. No cell phone signal. Root, I'm going to need you keep on him with the traffic cams.”

“ _Anything for you, Sweetie-pie.”_

The boy flopped his skateboard down on the street and rocketed away on it. Shaw got out of the Sonata before he reached the corner and followed him on her bicycle.

“Finch?” said Reese.

“ _Yes?”_

“A gray Chevy Tahoe just took off after our number, license GAX-4555. Looks like just a driver.”

“ _Just a moment… Hmm… That number is registered to a white Dodge Caravan. We've notified Shaw to look out for it.”_

“Right. On to the housebreaking part of my job.”

 

“ _What do you think, Mr. Reese?”_

It's a nice little place. Clutter, bills… They are having a hard time keeping up.” He moved to the return air vent and unscrewed the face plate and reached up to place the camera. “Well, this is interesting. How long did you say they lived here?”

“ _Ben and May Parker bought the house about thirty years ago. Why?”_

“We are not the first people to have the Parkers under surveillance.”

“ _Oh. Let me take a look at it, Mr. Reese.”_

He snapped some pictures and sent them.

“ _Interesting… These were state of the art ten years ago.”_

“About the time Peter's parents were killed?”

“ _Yes, yes that fits._ _Battery run…_ _Judging by all the dust on them, I would wager they haven't_ _worke_ _d for a long time._ _Take them out when you put ours in, if you will. I'll run the serial numbers and see what I can find.”_

“Will do.”

 

“Shit! He's a fast little bugger. I knew I should have taken the motorcycle. Where is he, Root?”

“ _Sorry, I lost him. He ducked under some trees. Looks like the Tahoe lost him too. Switching over to follow them. They're two blocks ahead of you and one to your right.”_

“OK,” said Shaw “Tracking them now. Root? I may have to drop-and-pick up after I acquire them. Ready?”

“ _I've got you. Turn left at the next cross-street. Where are they… OK, it looks like they're changing route toward his school.”_

 

“Well,” said Reese. “Our boy sure is popular again all of a sudden.”

“ _So either the people that were monitoring him ten years ago are back, or some other bunch is following him around. I don't know which is worse. Check his room next, Mr. Reese.”_

 

Shaw stopped at the intersection up the street from Midtown High. “Found him yet, Finch? Root?”

“ _Sorry Darlin'. He's still not showing up on the traffic cams.”_

“ _And he still hasn't turned his phone on, Ms Shaw. We won't be able to locate the GPS until he does. We may not be able to pick him up again until he's in range of the school CCTV, which is decidedly not adequate.”_

“ _Ah! There he is.”_ said Root. _“He's at the park down the street from the school. There's no way he's going to be on time now.”_

“ _Hm,”_ said Finch. _“_ _I suppose it's possible he stayed under tree cover the whole way there…”_

“OK. If this is going to be a thing with him, we'll need someone on the inside.” Shaw sounded annoyed.

“ _At the very least. I'll look into it”_

Gen's voice broke in. _“I have an idea...”_

“ _No! We have no idea of what you'd be getting into!”_

“ _Come on, Harold!”_ Root said, _“_ _Gen_ _is perfect. She's the same age as the new number. He's a teenage boy, she's a pretty girl… Do the math.”_

“ _Ms. Groves!”_

“ _Oh, come on. It wouldn't be my first time in the field,”_ Gen said.

“ _No, only the second.”_

“You've got to take the training wheels off sometime, Finch,” said Shaw.

“ _Relax, Mr. Finch,”_ Gen said, _“We have the weekend to solve this. Whatever this is might pop by Monday.”_

“ _Lets hope so.”_

 

“ _How's it going, Mr Reese?”_

“This kid's lock is something else. I don't have the tools to get in without breaking it or kicking the door down. I'm going to check the rest of the house and then try the window.”

“ _We may have to come back and try a— Oh, dear. John, a neighbor must have seen you breaking in. She's called the police. They're on the way.”_

“Time to leave.” Reese went down the stairs again, but as he turned at the bottom toward the kitchen door, he nearly collided with another man dressed in black. “Hello,” Reese said softly. “I don't think you belong here.”

The short-haired blond was holding a pistol in his right hand and a black canvas bag in his left He raised his weapon to Reese's face in a split second. His steel-hued eyes flew over Reese, hard and assessing. “Who sent you?”

Reese grinned like a wolf. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“ _What's going on, Mr. Reese?”_

“Hands up. Turn around. Go to the basement.” The blond gestured toward the door under the stairs.

“Can't we just talk?”

“Get in there.”

The man got off one shot as Reese came to the basement door, but Reese had already guessed it was coming and had leaned back to avoid it. He didn't get a chance to fire another. Reese slapped his left hand down on the man's right wrist and twisted it counter-clockwise to make him drop his weapon, while simultaneously pulling him forward into a punch to the base of the throat with his other hand and then a swift kick to the knee. He finished the pull by throwing the man to the floor in front of the walkway to the kitchen.

Unfortunately, the man was not alone.

One of his partners fired at Reese through the kitchen from the back door, and then the other joined him. They missed, but Reese was pinned down while the man he had fought staggered up to join his buddies, leaving his bag. By the time Reese got outside, the three were down the street and piling into a dark green sedan driven by a fourth man.

“You following them, Root?”

“ _Oh yes. Got pictures too.”_

“ _John, the police are almost there. You should go.”_

“No, I think I'll stay.” Reese smirked. “I have a job for them.” He retrieved the bag his opponent had dropped, put it down on the front porch and sat next to it. He didn't have long to wait before the patrol car showed up.

“Hands in the air!”

Reese complied with his badge held in his right hand.

“You a cop?”

“Riley, Homicide, 8th Precinct.”

“You're a little out of your neighborhood aren't you?” The patrolman holstered his gun, and Reese lowered his hands.

“Had a tip a guy I was interested in talking to about a cold case was seen around here. Officer…?”

“Lewis. Carl Lewis. How cold is this case?”

“Eleven years.”

“The tip pan out?”

Reese grinned. “No, but I saw a break-and-enter and three guys shot at me not 10 minutes ago, so I must be doing something right.”

“Three? You got a look at the perps?”

“Saw one guy real well; we should get a sketch of him out ASAP. Got a glance at two more, and didn't see the driver at all. At least three of the guys were armed and they didn't hesitate to shoot. I counted maybe twelve shots. You'll find slugs in the walls and furniture; all but one fired into the living room from the back door. First guy had a .45 cal. automatic, looks like maybe an HK. It's still on the living room floor in there. He ran away after I made him drop it. His slug should be low on the wall near the front door. Driver had a dark green Chevy Cavalier, license FYP 2503.”

The cop shook his head. “We'll put out the APB. Animals. You know it's only a widow lady and a kid who live here, right? The man of the house was killed last month, and now I've got to tell his missus she almost got robbed too. It's lucky you were here. Say, any of them look like this guy?” He showed a picture of the man who killed Ben Parker on his cell.

“No, definitely not.” Reese shook his head. “Not unless he's the driver. Who is he? He looks too scruffy to be with the guys I just met.”

“He killed Mr. Parker.”

“Probably not related. I bet some gang saw the obit and thought, 'Hey, easy pickings.' They might try again. Maybe some extra patrols, let everyone know you're looking out for them…?”

“Wouldn't hurt. Maybe we can do it for at least a few days.” He looked up. “Hey, Jan. Jan here's the sketch artist. You ready?”

“The sooner the better.”

Reese moved the bag. Jan sat down next to him, opened her pad and picked up a charcoal stick. “OK, lets start with the first guy,” she said.

“Shooter one: square-ish face, a little wider at the jaws than the temples… Square chin, a little sharper angle at the jaw. Good. Hairline is high and straight. Clean-shaven. Hair is dark blond in a buzz cut. Eyes are small-ish and gray. Eyebrows drop down a little lower near the nose…”

 

Describing the intruders kept him busy for the next half hour.

“Well, fellas, I better be getting back home.”

“Thanks for the assist.”

“Anytime.”

He picked up the bag and went to his car. “What's the news, people?”

“He arrived at school ten minutes after his first class started,” said Shaw, “He was set to be there half an hour early the last I saw him, so where the hell was he for all that time?”

“I'll see that forty minutes and raise you three violent pros doing a home invasion and a getaway driver in a fast car,” said Reese. “Speaking of, where are they?”

“ _I followed them to a dead zone near the harbor.”_ He could hear Root's pout. _“They've probably bailed on the car and left it there.”_

“Hm. Too bad,” said Reese. “It's looking more and more like our number is a victim.”

“ _We can't be absolutely sure without knowing the motives of the people watching him,”_ said Finch, _“but that does seem most likely.”_

“I took a look in the bag while I was waiting at a stop light. Mics and cameras, the same brands I just put in. Looks like he was just scouting. This time, anyway.”

“ _Interesting, if not terribly informative.”_

“Their trigger fingers are a bit too itchy for my taste, Harold.”

 

17 May (Friday) 17:22  
NYPD 8th Precinct _, New York City_  
A _sset_ _:_ _Reese, John_ _  
__NYPD,_ _Detective,_ _Homicide_ _:_ _Fusco_ _,_ Lionel

Fusco looked up from the papers on his desk. “Hey 'partner'. Where you been all day? The Captain's wondering if you actually work here. She asked if you want to transfer over to Queens. What's in the bag?”

“Lionel. Finch tells me our new number has lead an exciting life.” Reese opened the bag for Fusco to look in.

“Yeah, if by 'exciting' you mean 'sad'.” He shook his head as he looked over Reese's spoils. “What the hell has this kid got himself into everybody wants to spy on him?”

“That's the question, isn't it. So, sad. Parents dead, a 'friend' attacks him, uncle dead, and now armed 'burglars' at his home.”

Fusco looked at him sharply and leaned forward. “No way was this stuff for a burglary.”

Reese's lips twisted in a wry smile. “It'll do for now. Got anything else?”

“Not in any reports, but I heard a rumor, see?”

Reese raised his eyebrows and made an 'I'm listening' face.

“Got this from Weems over at the 19th when I was checking out the Parker kid. Guess who was over at his precinct house with his hair on fire telling Captain Stacy about some lab jockey turning himself into a giant lizard. The one on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

Reese raised both eyebrows.

“Yeah, it's our boy. 'Course Stacy starts looking into it 'cause he's a good cop. Careful. But he don't really believe him. He don't wanna believe him; the kid's just his daughter's punk boyfriend, see, and Connors is her mentor. So he kicks the kid out. Nobody's laughing the next day though…” Fusco shrugs.

“And nobody followed up on this?”

Fusco looked thoughtful. “Not that I heard. Stacy died. Connors is in stir and everybody has their hands full.”

“You hear that Finch?” murmured Reese

_“This is very interesting. Yes, I think the two of you need to discuss this with him as soon as possible.”_

“We'll head over to the Parker's tomorrow morning and see what we can come up with.” He picked up the bag. “And now I'm going to take this down to forensics and see if they can lift any prints we can use off it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new number is a sensitive boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rahlian for the beta read!

18 May (Saturday) 09:32  
CCTV 1 MHS: Midtown High School, Queens.  
Admin  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika

Gen knew the blue coveralls and yellow hardhat she was currently wearing did nothing for her, but she hoped that they did not look as wrong on her as they did on Mr. Finch.

“Here, let me get that.” She opened the unlocked the door as Finch pushed the cart up the handicapped access ramp. “You'd think this place would have better security after what happened.”

“It's precisely because of the attack that it doesn't,” said Finch. “I suppose we should be thankful. Because of the extent of the damage left by Dr Connors and the need to hold classes during the week, repairs are not going to be completely finished until the summer break, even with full shifts working weekends. Two more electricians are hardly worthy of comment.” He limped behind their cart as she guided it in.

“I am a little surprised we're doing this.”

“Well, we are the experts on the team. Besides, the more intimate you are with the layout of the school, the better if you do end up going under cover here.”

“No, no, no. I mean why don't we just tap into the existing system?”

“There isn't one, not to speak of.”

“What? I thought there was a huge grant to install CCTV in every school in the city years ago.”

“Yes, there was a grant to buy the cameras and the equipment to run them, but that was all.”

Gen looked quizzical.

Finch sighed. “Midtown High was built during the 1930s. The last time the wiring was upgraded was in the early 1980s. There wasn't enough electrical capacity in the buildings to actually run the full installation of CCTV equipment without without either a major rewiring or unplugging other things, including the lights. The previous principal decided to place cameras in what he deemed to be critical areas and spent the discretionary funds on the science labs and the sports facilities instead. The remaining cameras are in storage somewhere.”

“Oh, so that's why we only have what the students post online. Where _do_ we have cameras installed?”

“The grounds, entrances and exits, and the door to room 202. Oh well, at least it's one of the rooms our number has a class in. You too if this isn't resolved by Monday.”

“Room 202? What's in room 202?”

“AP English, mostly.”

“What!”

“Principal Roupe seems to have had a grudge against the teacher who has her homeroom there, Heaven knows why. I suppose he was trying to catch her doing… something. Or maybe it was just to intimidate her and her colleagues. There were three grievances filed against him with the teacher's union in his last year—and others filed at every other school he ever worked at.”

Gen bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “So… everywhere the lizard went is in a blind spot, and Midtown's students were being kept safe from… from _Shakespeare!_ ”

Finch's mouth twisted in disapproval. “And all the rest of the English literary canon.”

“That is so lame. Please tell me he was fired.”

“I wish I could, Ms Zhirova, but as malevolent and stupid as he seems to have been, he was also in the union. He retired last summer.”

“I'm imagining Dolores Umbridge in drag right now.”

“That comparison struck me too, but he reminded me more of Principal Snyder from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.”

“Great.” Her eyes opened comically wide. “ _О Боже!_ That _and_ a giant lizard-man. You don't think Midtown High is on a hellmouth, do you?”

“You shouldn't be attending here long enough for it to be a concern.” Finch's lips pinched tight, biting off the comment that hoped she wouldn't be there at all. She heard it anyway. “As it is, we're fortunate there is so much repair work going on right now. It makes our own presence unremarkable.”

A sudden thought struck her “That reminds me, could that attack be related to us getting Parker's number? Do we have anything from student sites that shows what he was doing while all that was happening?”

“To the first question, I don't see precisely how it is yet, but there certainly are a number of connections that make coincidence unlikely. It's something we're looking into. To the second, if anybody has video or pictures of the attack, they're keeping it to themselves.” He pulled a large floor plan out of their cart and spread it over the top. “So, Ms Zhirova, our time and resources are limited. Where shall we begin?”

She contemplated the floor plans for a moment and said, “has the hole in the floor where the Lizard got in been sealed up?

“No, it's just boarded over as is the hole in the wall where the door used to be. The city is taking advantage of the situation to service all the plumbing in the building, so it isn't scheduled to be repaired until the summer break.”

“Here, then.” She tapped the spot. “Call me crazy, but it really bothers me that there's a way in that nobody's watching.”

“When you put it like that… Yes, let’s start there. We may not be able to install cameras where work crews currently are, so let’s cross those off as we come to them and try again tomorrow. Aside from that...”

“We hit every place we can Parker is scheduled or likely to go and hope we don't run out of time. Or equipment. This is going to be a long day.”

“And tomorrow will be another. Look on the bright side,” he sighed, “At least we don't have to interview a grieving widow and a bereaved teenager.”

“At least there's that.”

 

18 May (Saturday) 10:13  
Street cam: Ingram Street, Forest Hills, Queens, New York City  
White Hyundai Sonata license HGT-4424  
Asset: Reese, John  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel

“Hello, Mrs Parker, thank you for seeing us. I'm Detective Fusco, and this is my partner Detective Riley.”

“Oh, have you found something new about Ben, or is this about yesterday?”

“Sorry, ma'am. It's about yesterday.”

“Detective Riley… You're the policeman who stopped those burglars. Officer Lewis told me what you did. Thank you. Won’t you come in?”

“I was just in the neighborhood, ma'am, working on another case.”

“Is there anything I can do to help with that?” May asked as the two detectives stepped inside.

“I don't think so, ma'am. It was a long time ago. My lead didn't pan out.”

“So sorry. Well, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to ask if you or your nephew have noticed anything—” Reese broke off in surprise and studied the living room. “Well, now. If I wasn’t the one getting shot at, I'd never guess there was a shooting gallery in here yesterday.”

“A little spackle, a little paint, clean up a couple broken tchotchkes, move some cushions around… Open the windows to get that smell out. I had to get off from work early to clean it up before my nephew got home, so I have to go in this afternoon to make up the time. Thank God none of them broke any windows. I wouldn't have been able to hide that.”

“Hide…?”

“My nephew… Peter is a very sensitive boy and some awful things have happened to him, lately especially.” She sighed, “I guess I just felt like this was one awful thing too much, and then it occurred to me that if he just never heard about it…”

Fusco and Reese looked at each other.

“You don't have to tell him, do you?” she asked.

“I don't…” Reese pressed his lips tight. “Sometimes it's worse not knowing.”

She looked at him silently for a moment. “You look like a man who has seen a lot and learned judgment the hard way. Perhaps you've learned that sometimes people need to be flexible.”

Fusco snorted. “Mrs Parker, you got _no_ idea. What!” he answered Reese's exasperated look. “She's got your number, pal.”

“I'm not promising one way or the other, but I'd at least like to show him the pictures the sketch artist drew and warn him to be on the lookout for suspicious activity.”

“That, we can do.” She called up the stairs. “Peter! There are some police officers here who need to talk with you!”

Silence.

“Peter!”

There was the sound of a door opening, footsteps in the hall and then a tousled head peeking around the stairwell.

“Hi?”

“Peter, this is Detective Riley and Detective Fusco. They need to ask some questions.”

He swallowed. “OK. Is this about Uncle Ben?”

“No, sorry,” said Reese. “There's been some suspicious activity in the neighborhood, and we’re hoping that you could look at some sketches and tell us whether you've seen anything.”

He came slowly down the stairs. “Suspicious, how?”

“There's been an attempted burglary and we wanted to ask if you've seen some people.”

“Oh. OK.”

Fusco coughed and cleared his throat. “Ma'am, could I trouble you…”

“Of course Detective, right this way.” She led him off to the kitchen.

“Can we talk outside?” asked Peter.

“Sure.”

Peter lead the way to the front porch and sat on the top step. Reese sat next to him.

“Can I ask you a question? Before my aunt comes out? It's kind of personal.”

“Ask away.”

“Did you ever kill—no. Did you ever want to kill somebody?”

Reese looked at him closely. “Yes to both.”

“Why?”

“A lot of reasons. Some because of my job. Some because they tried to kill me first or they hurt other people.”

“Oh,” Peter said, slumping over to fidget with a shoelace.

Reese was silent for a moment, thinking. “And once I wanted to kill a man because he killed someone I loved.”

“Did it help?”

“He's still alive as far as I know. There are other ways to get revenge; I took one.”

“Did you feel better after?”

“I crawled into a bottle and stayed there until I felt nothing, so no, I wouldn't call that better.”

“Oh. Do you think you would have felt better if—”

“No.”

Peter looked sidelong at him.

“Because…” Reese paused, thinking of the best way to put it. “The thing that hurt the worst was I had chances to stop him, but… I didn't go to her until it was too late. He killed her, yeah, but I wasn't there for her when she called for help, and that's on me. That would always be on me no matter what I did to him.”

“Oh.”

“He's in prison now. He'll be lonely, bored and miserable every day of his life from now until he dies; and most important, he can't hurt anyone else while he thinks about why he's there.”

“Is that enough?”

“It didn't feel like it for a long time. It's better now. Mostly I just try to help other people when I can.”

There was a heavy silence.

“You want to show me those pictures now?”

“Yeah, sure. Here's the first one.”

Peter looked at it long and carefully. “I think I saw him this morning. He was in a green car. Front passenger seat. The ferret-looking guy was sitting behind him. I didn't see the black guy.”

“Did they seem interested in anything in particular?”

“No, they just looked straight ahead, as far as I could tell. It was kind of creepy.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Thank you, Mr Parker. If you see them, call me right away and do _not_ go near them.”

“I won't. And Mr Parker is my uncle. Call me Peter.”

“Thank you, Peter. I have another question. It's just for my curiosity, so you don't have to answer if you don't want.”

“OK…”

“The day before Curtis Connors attacked your school, you warned Captain Stacy about him, correct?”

Peter nodded.

“How did you know?”

“He… He was a friend of my father's and…” He hunched in on himself. “This is really hard to talk about. Sorry.”

“That's OK. Sorry to bother you.”

 

18 May (Saturday) 12:45  
CCTV. Sunrise Diner, Queens, New York City  
Asset: Reese, John  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel

“This a good time, Finch?”

“ _Certainly. Ms Zhirova and I are finishing our lunch. How did it go?”_

“About as well as you might expect. He saw the men who broke in yesterday as he was on his way to school, but they didn't approach him. He can't talk about Connors. And he asked if I ever wanted to kill anybody.”

“ _He_ what _? Did that line of questioning strike you two as a little disturbing?”_ asked Finch.

“Well, Harold, he just lost someone he loved to a senseless act of violence. I'd be more disturbed if he wasn't asking about revenge.”

“Yeah,” said Fusco. “The kid gets it off his chest, gets some perspective. 'S healthy, right?”

“ _Hm. Well, I suppose we've all been where he is. Lets hope he's coping better than we did.”_ He sighed, “ _and at least now that we have some level of surveillance established there, we can see and hear what goes on the first floor and the yard. Root can splice us in if anything happens.”_

“Anything happening over there, Root?”

“ _Nothing all morning. Sameen is getting a little frus—oh. Eugene is walking to the door. Here we go.”_

“Aw shit.” Fusco threw down his napkin.

“ _Don't worry, Detective,”_ said Finch. “ _Ms Shaw is in place.”_

“OK, Here's your bacon burger and onion rings,” the waiter broke in, “and here's your bagel lox special. Heat up your coffee for you gentlemen?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” said Fusco.

“Don't mention it.”

 

18 May (Saturday) 13:01  
Street cam: Ingram St., Forest Hills, Queens, New York City  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen  
Subject: Thomson, Eugene “Flash”

If Peter was surprised to see Flash when he opened the door, he didn't show it.

“Hey, can you talk?” asked Flash.

“You mean with you?”

“Yeah, there's... I need… I gotta ask you something,” Flash finally managed, the last part tumbling past his lips in a rush.

Peter just looked at him.

“That day? The one the Lizard came?”

“Yeah?”

“You were there, right? You and Stacy?”

“Yeah, I was there! Is there a point, Flash?”

“You didn't—”

“Peter!”

“Yes, Aunt May.”

She came to the front door behind him and looked out. “Who's your friend?”

“This is Flash.”

She looked coldly at the tall boy. “Yes?”

“Uh, hi, um, I need to talk to Parker about something.”

“Yeah, but we talked, and he has to go. Right, Flash?”

“…Yeah. Goodbye, Mrs Parker.”

“Goodbye, Flash.” She watched him with narrowed eyes as he walked down to the sidewalk and away down the street. “What was he doing here?”

“Just, uh, talking, I guess.”

“And what was he 'just talking' about?”

“Oh, stuff. School stuff.”

“Right.” She sighed. “Peter, you know your _friends_ are welcome here, right?”

“Um… We aren't exactly… ”

“I know. Listen to me: I'm not going to put up with a lout who hits you coming to our home.”

“It isn't what—”

“No, Peter! Don't excuse him. You come home beaten up… I know he bullied you in school before; Ben told me. Maybe you feel sorry for him. God knows I do. I've heard about his father.”

“Flash's father?” Peter frowned. “What about his father?”

“Never you mind.” She pressed her lips tightly. “You tell him from me that if he _ever_ raises his hand to you again?”

“…Yes, Aunt May?”

“I will _end_ him.”

Peter stared.

“Look at my face. Am I joking?”

“…No, Aunt May.”

“The kids don't seem homicidal at the moment,” Shaw muttered from the car where she had been watching the whole exchange. “Can't say the same for Mrs Parker though,” she added with a small curve to her lips.

 

18 May (Saturday) 13:04  
CCTV. Sunset Diner, Queens, New York City  
Asset: Reese, John  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel

“Wow,” said Fusco, “are you sure it's the kid we should be watching?”

“I wonder… Root? What do we know about Flash's father?”

“ _Just a moment… Harrison Thompson. He's been a police officer for nearly twenty years. No black marks on his record. Lionel?”_

“What, do I know every cop in the city? Nah, I don't know 'im, which probably means he's straight.”

“Well, Lionel, Root,” purred Reese, “I think it's time to look into Officer Thompson and his family some more. I think they're about to become relevant.”

“ _To our number, Mr Reese?”_ asked Finch.

“Sure.”

“ _I'm way ahead of you,”_ said Root.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm on 'em. Soon as I finish my burger.”

 

18 May (Saturday) 23:34  
Street cam: Ingram Street, Forest Hills, Queens, New York City  
White Hyundai Sonata license HGT-4424  
Asset: Reese, John  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen  
Subject: Parker, May Reilly

“She's back,” said Fusco.

“ _Has he gone out at_ all _?”_ asked Finch.

“Not that we could see,” answered Reese. “The light in his room went on about five minutes ago.”

“ _Not going out on such a beautiful day could indicate depression,”_ mused Finch. “ _His cell has been off all day. He hasn't done anything online since Googling the two of you after your interview. He hasn't called anybody and he didn't answer the landline even though it rang twice.”_

“Maybe he naps with his headphones on,” said Fusco. “Lee does it all the time. Drives the ex crazy. Maybe he's just being a teenager.”

“ _Or maybe he's brooding over something serious,”_ said Root.

“Well, we got a lot of choices there,” said Fusco “His uncle and his girlfriend, for starters.”

“And Connors,” said Reese. “That's a surprisingly touchy topic for him. Have you found any more connections there?”

“ _Curt Connors and Richard Parker were more than just friends; they were very close colleagues,”_ said Finch. “ _Their theories were considered, well… eccentric by more mainstream researchers at the time. Apparently they would have been vindicated by some discovery of Dr Parker's, but he died in that plane crash first. The Connors and the Parkers socialized frequently before the Parkers were killed. Peter might have viewed him as a kind of surrogate for his father. He did visit Connors at home and at Oscorp.”_

“That could explain how he found out about Connors' mutation and why it's so hard for him to talk about it. What other connections?”

“ _Beyond that… Connors may have been after our number when he attacked Midtown High, but I think it is more likely he meant to harm his intern, Gwen Stacy, who also goes to school there. She helped thwart his plans by making the antidote to his serum, after all.”_

“ _And don't forget: he was dating her at the time, Harold,”_ said Root.

“ _Oh! Of course! That makes_ four _links.”_

“There's no way this is all coincidence,” said Fusco. “When did they break up?”

“ _It seems he started avoiding her from that day. Perhaps he blamed her for the attack or feared a similar occurrence in the future… Hmm. Interesting.”_

“ _Yes, that_ is _interesting. Well spotted, Harold.”_

“What?” asked Reese.

“ _She called him after Connors and Spider-man left,”_ said Root. “ _Analysis of the cell tower records suggest he was underground near the school when she reached him. He has only called her once since that—later the same day—and has rarely answered her calls to him. When he does, the duration of the call is always very brief. If the breakup started because of this incident, that would make link number five.”_

Fusco looked thoughtful. “What about Spider-man; could he be link six? What have you people found out about him?”

“ _Very little. He wasn't seen for a week and a half since the Lizard incident, but he seems to be back now. He was in Midtown and East Village earlier this evening.”_

“What? Captain Stacy took his mask off. You guys haven't identified him _yet_?”

“ _I'm afraid not, Detective. The news and traffic cam footage wasn't detailed enough for facial recognition programs to work with. He's average height, wiry build, age is estimated to be anywhere from the late teens to mid-thirties. All the cameras showed for sure is he has a fair complexion and dark hair. There are nearly a million men of various ethnicities in this state alone that fit that description.”_

“That's it?”

“ _Unfortunately, yes. The only person who got a clear enough look at him to identify him died later that night.”_ He glanced to his left. “ _Anything to add, Ms Groves.”_

“ _If She knows who Spider-man is, Harold, She's not telling me.”_

_Conjectures, people?”_

Reese leaned back in his seat. “I have some ideas, but they're pretty wild.”

“ _That's more than we have right now. Go on.”_

“He moves like nothing I've seen outside a Jackie Chan movie or _Cirque du Soleil_. It takes years of hard training to reach that level; he may have started as a child, perhaps in a circus or acrobat troupe…?”

“Or an intelligence agency,” said Shaw.

“Maybe. SHIELD used to specialize in unusual tech before they went belly-up, like the kind he uses for climbing walls and shooting webs. We saw the video of him lifting that car… He may have some tech that lets him do that or been exposed to an agent like A.I.M.'s Extremis.”

“ _That's so unfair,”_ Gen interjected.

“ _Being brought up to that life is_ not _a good thing, Ms Zhirova,”_ said Finch. “ _Go on.”_

“Well,” said Reese, “his accent is local, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's a US citizen let alone a native New Yorker. Any covert program that trains people in skills like that also teaches them fluency in multiple languages, and a lot of performers travel. He could be from anywhere. That's all I can think of. Lionel?”

“Yeah,” said Fusco, “he's a wiseass, so I kinda doubt the secret angst angle, and he knows dick about law enforcement.”

“ _Detective?”_

“Ya heard me. Sure, he stops crimes and leaves the perps tied up for us, but a lotta times there ain't any evidence or witnesses to swear out a complaint and the perp walks. He's also butt in on undercover ops. He had contacts inside the PD? He wouldn't do that.”

“ _You sound like you disapprove, Lionel,”_ said Root.

“Engh, I ain't that hypocritical, and he could be worse. At least he doesn't kill people like some of these Rambo types do. Doesn't even hurt them if he can avoid it. I can live with a perp not getting charged if that means nobody got raped or murdered. Besides, I'd rather him than me deal with things like that lizard or those aliens. Those are way over my pay grade.” He grinned. “You got anything you want us to say to him if we meet him?”

Finch blinked owlishly from the video screen. “ _Yes, I would like you to ask him what he knows about Peter Parker.”_

“Aw, you suck all the fun out of my life.”

“ _What else is there?”_

“Share tips on how to be a better vigilante? So far he seems to be doing the same thing you people do, but with less guns and more silly-string.”

“ _I'd love some of those things he uses to climb walls and make his webs,”_ Root said wistfully, “ _think of all the applications, Sameen!”_

“Anybody ever tell you you have a one-track mind?” asked Shaw.

“ _You lie! I have at least two tracks.”_

“Here we go again,” muttered Fusco.

Finch coughed. “ _Well, this is all very interesting but we need to focus on our current assignment.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new number has an annoying amount of angst in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Rahlian for the beta read! All mistakes are my own.

19 May (Sunday) 10:48  
Street cam: Forest Hills Cemetery, Queens, New York City  
Blue Honda Acura license XLQ-3696  
Asset: Reese, John  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel  
Subject: Parker, Peter

Fusco checked for a signal for what must have been the tenth time that morning. “Does this kid even _have_ a cell phone?”

“Verizon says he does.” Reese swivelled his binoculars down the street as the gray SUV crept past them. “There go our friends in the Tahoe again, right on schedule.”

“Their phones are secure, damn it. They're watching our guy, we're watching them watch him… What're they waiting for?”

“To get him alone.”

“Well, they sure ain't gonna try at his house with all the nosy neighbors and police patrols around. Good work there.”

Reese smirked and then looked pensive. “Maybe a little too good. Pros don’t chase after high schoolers for the fun of it. Now they know someone’s watching. It’s gonna be harder to figure out who's paying them and why.”

“Yeah, that's—wait a minute, who's… It's that Thompson kid again. He sure is persistent.”

“Well, Lionel, you can at least tap _his_ phone and find out what he wants.”

 

Flash didn't say anything for the first few minutes; he just stood next to Peter. Peter maintained his hands-in-pocket slouch, staring at his uncle's grave marker.

“Hey,” Flash finally said.

“What.”

“OK... Ever since, well, since… You know. You've been acting weird.”

Peter didn't move.

“When you started dating Stacy. I thought you were OK. Maybe you're not. I don't know.”

Silence.

“It's like—like you didn't want to… So you're with Stacy and I thought OK, that's fine, that's good. Whatever. She's pretty cool.”

Peter shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on the marker. “I can't talk about this.”

“And then the next day—the Next. Day. It's not fine. A big lizard attacks our school and you're not OK. You're just standing there and that look on your face—I mean you're both not OK. I know that. I saw Stacy yesterday. She's… She's not doing so great either, but something's really bugging you.”

Peter heaved a sigh, but didn't turn around. “So?”

“You couldn't even come to the funeral, man.”

No reaction.

“What the hell? You're not a guy who'd let his girlfriend go to her dad's funeral alone.”

“You don't know me.”

Flash was silent a moment. “I saw her. After the funeral too. I went to your house because I thought… And she was there. I heard what she said about her father.”

Silence.

“You promised to leave her alone.”

Still no answer.

“Why? I mean, why are you going along with it?”

“I'm no good for her.” Peter gulped in a deep breath. “He knew I was no good for her.”

Flash's brows drew together. “Why?”

He still didn't look up. “Do yourself a favor and stay away from me, Flash. I'm bad news.”

Flash grabbed his arm and pulled him face-to-face. “That's bullshit!”

“Don't touch me!”

Flash let go. “Her mom is sending her away. She asked to go, and her mom is sending her to live with a cousin somewhere. If you don't say something, you're going to lose her for good.”

“Why do you care?”

Flash sneered. “Maybe I owe it to her.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Flash! Gwen and me breaking up has nothing to do with you!”

Flash laughed bitterly. “Not actually an idiot, Parker.”

“Flash…”

He sighed. “I know we're not friends, OK? But am I that bad, Parker? Really?”

Peter went back to staring a hole in his uncle's grave marker.

“What?” snapped Flash.

“Look, I don't want to rag on you over Uncle Ben’s grave. But Flash, you… Honestly, Flash, you make school hell for—for some of us.”

“And you're the one who's poison? Oh, don't stop now. You too?”

“Not… Not since Uncle Ben...” He swallowed hard. “And that one time you punched me after kind of hurt. But you're still pretty harsh to a lot of people whose uncles haven't died. Jessica, Missy, AJ, Gordon, any of the freshmen…” He sucked in a deep breath and looked up at Flash's face. “Aunt May said something about your dad. And she doesn't want you coming to our house.”

“That's it.” His mouth twisted bitterly, and he turned to go. “OK. Fine. Message received.”

“Are you...?

“I'm fine,” he gritted out. “Never better.”

“Really? Because—“

“Mind your own fucking business!” Flash snarled and stormed away.

 

“Interesting,”' said Reese. “What did you find out about his father, Lionel?”

“Good cop. Wife and two kids. Eugene's the older.”

“That's it?”

“Engh, well… No complaints at work about him beyond the usual.”

“The usual?”

“Shows up late for work sometimes. Well, a lot, actually, but his squad covers for him…” he trailed off.

Reese looked at Fusco. “What is it, Lionel?”

He sighed. “The Thompsons got a lot of domestics called to their house. At least one a year. No charges ever filed, though. I wanna hear what Glasses and Almond Crunch dig up on him before I say more.”

“Anywhere they should be looking in particular?”

Fusco hesitated.

“Lionel?”

“I'd start with the family's hospital records.”

“ _We're way ahead of you, Detective,”_ said Finch from the speaker. “ _I'm sorry to say that your hunch may well be correct. Here, Ms Zhirova can you pull that—I'm sorry, gentlemen. I'm a little distracted at the moment.”_

“Could you use a hand over there?” asked Reese.

 _There's no point. At the rate we're going, we'll have finished wiring in_ _all the cameras circumstances will permit by noon_ _.”_

“ _Yeah,”_ said Gen. “ _For what it's worth. Half the places we want to cover have work crews messing around in them the whole weekend.”_

“ _I'm afraid we are going to have have a worrisome number of blind spots. Anyway, as I was about to say, the Thompsons get a lot of 'booboos' as Ms Groves put it. One or another of them seems to go to the Emergency Room every other month. Now, what did you hear, Detective?”_

“He bends his elbow way more than is healthy. ‘S an occupational hazard. Don't necessarily mean anything. What else you find?”

“ _An impressive amount of money charged to local bars and liquor shops. Considering that, the long record of complaints from their neighbors, and the trips to the emergency room…”_

“Flash's dad is a drunk,” said Reese, “and probably abusive. Explains where he gets the anger management issues.”

“Looks like,” said Fusco glumly. “Be a damn shame if his kid goes the same way.”

“ _One thing at a time, gentlemen,”_ said Finch, “ _But when Mr Parker's case is resolved…”_

“If not sooner.” Reese's eyes glinted coldly.

“ _Ms Groves and Ms Shaw were called away to New Jersey, but I will resume digging when we're done here. Lets hope it's not as bad as it looks. The facts so far are suggestive but not absolutely dispositive.”_

Peter wandered around the graveyard for an hour longer. He stopped at a few more graves: his parents' (closed casket, only fragments had been recovered from the crash) and Captain Stacy's. He stood there with his head bowed nearly as long as he had at his uncle's grave. Then he zoomed off on his skateboard. The gray SUV lost him immediately after he went around the first corner. Finch watched them all the way back to Peter's neighborhood. He was amused to notice they stayed a respectful distance away from the Parker residence.

 

19 May (Sunday) 19:05  
Street cam: Ingram Street, Forest Hills, Queens, New York City  
Blue Honda Acura license XLQ-3696  
Asset: Reese, John  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel  
Subject: Parker, Peter

“He's back,” said Reese. “How the hell does he keep vanishing like this? He's been off our radar for more than seven hours.”

“We depend on cell phones too much.” said Fusco. “Maybe we need to put a tracer on his board or something.”

“What a wonderful idea, Lionel.”

“Yeah, laugh it up, Mr Happy.” He looked at Reese a moment. “Wait, you taking it serious?”

“ _It sounds like a good idea to me, too if we can manage it.”_ Finch paused. “ _Ms Groves is back. What have you found?”_

There was another moment's pause while she patched into the coms.“ _The intruder Reese fought in Peter's house has met with an unfortunate accident.”_

“An accident.” Fusco said skeptically.

“ _Yes, the kind that ends with someone being garroted and dismembered. His head, upper torso and left leg were found in dumpsters in Hoboken. The medical examiner over there thinks he was killed some time Friday afternoon or evening. Sameen is prowling around New Jersey to see what else turns up.”_

“Not long after the his sketch was put out there,” said Reese.

“Swell,” said Fusco. “Any I.D. yet?”

“ _Not from the body, but fingerprints from the bag he left at Peter's house match one Tadeusz Konzacki.”_

Reese's cell buzzed, and he unlocked it to look at the mugshot she sent. “That's the guy. He had work done. That mole's gone, and his nose was bigger. What can you tell me about him?”

“ _Tadeusz—I'll call him 'Tad'— used to work with a private military contractor Sameen's former associates hired a few times. They booted him. Sameen says it was for 'an incurable case of dumb'. He was arrested in Hell's Kitchen three years ago after a gang war erupted there. I guess his side lost because he had to use a public defender. He was serving life at Riker's for arson in the first degree, burglary, assault, mayhem and several counts of intimidating a witness.”_

“ _Was_ serving?” Reese's eyebrows drew up. “He escaped?”

“ _No, he just kind of vanished. One day last year, some 'federal officers' rolled up with orders to transfer Tad to Otisville, and none of them were ever heard from again. Until now. Come to think of it, maybe his side didn't lose after all.”_

“And they still dump him the minute he’s a liability. Nice friends,” said Fusco. “Anybody else go along with him on that ride?”

“ _No, just him.”_

“Maybe his cellmate knows something.”

“ _Let me see… Huh,”_ said Finch. “ _He died a few days before Mr. Konzacki's disappearance. Interesting…”_

“Murdered?”

“ _Natural causes.”_ Finch chuckled. “ _A stroke, according to the autopsy.”_

“ _What's so funny, Harold?”_ asked Root.

“ _Mr. Reese and I put him away for murder and various other things shortly after we started working together. You may remember him, John.”_

“Who was it?” asked Reese.

“ _Mark Lawson.”_

“Lawson.”

“ _Yes.”_

“Died of a stroke.”

“ _Yes.”_

Reese smiled.

“OK, now that? That's scary.” said Fusco. “Who the hell was Lawson?”

“Just a guy who got exactly what was coming to him,” said Reese.

“ _It doesn't get us any farther in solving our current problem, but I thought the news would brighten your day. Well, back to looking up Mr Konzacki's known associates. I'll send pictures as I find them.”_

None of the images Finch found rang any bells for Reese.

“ _Well, there is one other bright spot in this,”_ said Finch, “ _Since all signs point to the danger being outside Midtown High, I'm beginning to feel resigned to stationing Ms Zhirova there.”_

“Ah! Finally!” said Fusco.

Reese turned to look at him. “He turned his cell on?”

“Yeah, and he's actually calling somebody.”

“Who?”

“Gwen Stacy.”

 

She picked up on the second ring. “ _Peter?”_

“Hi, Gwen.” he sighed. “Did you know my uncle and your father are buried in the same graveyard?”

“ _What…? Um, I did.”_

“I went to visit Uncle Ben today.”

“ _Are you OK?”_

“So then I went on over over to your dad to pay my respects and to—to say I was sorry. Think about things. There's room for your mom right next to him, and for Howard, Simon and Phillip. And for you.”

“ _No Peter, no. Nothing's going to happen to me, I promise.”_

“You can't promise that. I met Flash there today. At Uncle Ben's grave. He said you were leaving.”

“ _Ask me not to go. Give me a reason, and I'll stay for you.”_ Tears were in her voice.

“There's a spot right there where your dad is buried, Gwen. I keep thinking of you in it and I can't stand it. And I know, I just know that if we stay together, I will put you there.”

“ _Peter, stop freaking out! I knew the risks. It was my choice.”_

“You had to make that choice because of me.”

“ _No, Peter!”_

“I can't… I—I can't… Goodbye, Gwen. Be safe.”

“ _Pet—”_

Peter hung up. He moaned like a wounded animal and turned his cell off again.

 

Fusco looked at Reese. “That does not sound good.”

“Guess we can forget about the Columbine scenario, at least.”

“ _Or a love triangle gone wrong.”_ chimed in Root. “ _Peter’s feeling guilty about_ something _though.”_

“ _And Ms Stacy knows what it is and disagrees. Something is clearly deeply wrong with him; so wrong that even his personal bully is concerned.”_

“Good thing you people don't get called in for suicides.”

“ _Oh,”_ said Finch as if he were struck by a sudden thought, “ _Oh, no.”_

“What do you mean, 'Oh, no'?” asked Fusco.

“ _That's not entirely true… John, when you were in Rikers, I was put on the case of a high school student who was engaging in some very risky behavior: selling drugs to other students and so on. He had planned to die because of guilt over his brother's death and wanted to provide for his mother first. By the time I found out what his real goal was, he had angered a violent drug dealer by flagrantly encroaching on his territory. I didn't mention it because I was able to change the boy's mind and get the dealer arrested while you were busy with other things.”_

“What!” exclaimed Fusco.

“ _If someone is courting self-destruction by inciting others to do the deed, we will be called in.”_

 

Archive footage  
8 May (Wednesday) 16:27  
CCTV MHS 1: Midtown High School, Queens  
Subject 1: Hodge, Christopher Todd “Chris”  
Subject 2: Parker, Peter  
Subject 3: Thompson, Eugene “Flash”

A boy in a Midtown letter jacket _(identify: Subject 1)_ is is speaking with a shorter boy wearing a knit cap and holding a skateboard _(identify: Subject 2)_. Subject 2 shakes his head. Subject 1 grabs the front of Subject 2’s hoodie, pushes him against a tree and raises a fist. Subject 2 dodges the blow and ducks away under his arm. The confrontation ends when another boy in a Midtown letter jacket _(identify: Subject 3)_ jogs up to them. Subject 2 departs on his skateboard while Subject 1 and Subject 3 are talking.

 

20 May (Monday) 07:55  
CCTV MHS 1: Midtown High School, Queens  
Admin  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika

Monday was a beautiful spring day in New York City. The sky was a mild blue with perfect fluffy clouds, and Genrika the Spy was going back to school. She grinned.

“I'm doing this under protest.”

“ _Oh, come on, Harold.”_ Finch could practically hear Root's smile through his earbud. “ _Look on the bright side! You said you wanted her to socialize with people her own age.”_

“At a nice, _safe_ school,” he whispered back as they walked toward the principal's office, “which I had already paid for! A short assignment where we know who the perpetrator is is one thing. Who knows how long this will last or where the danger will come from? It is completely irresponsible of us to send her into this…” He glanced a couple who were kissing passionately down the hall. “This maelstrom of thuggery and hormones!”

Gen gave him a sidelong glance. “I thought you were resigned to this,” she said.

“I'm having second thoughts. Hmph. Do you have everything, Ms Zhirova?”

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” she hissed, “And call me 'Gen'. You're going to break my cover!”

“'Sorry. Be sure not to break your own cover when you question Ms Kallenback about our number, _Gen_.” he murmured waspishly. And then they were at the school secretary's desk. “Hello, I'm Harold Sparrow. My daughter and I have an appointment with Principal Davis at a quarter after.”

She looked up at him. “Ah! You're early, but I'm sure Principal Davis can fit you in Mr. Sparrow, Ms Sparrow.” She rose and opened the door to the inner office.

Principal Davis proved to be a nondescript man with short salt-and-pepper hair and heavy black-rimmed glasses. He rose to greet them.

“Hello, hello, good morning. It's always good to see a father so interested in his daughter's education Mr… ?”

“Sparrow, Harold Sparrow.” He held out his hand to shake. “And this is my daughter, Gen.”

“Yes, well. I suppose we should get started? The first period will begin soon.”

“If you don't mind, I would like to have another student show M- my daughter around while you and I go over the arrangements.”

“Oh?”

“Gen is a little shy, and I think it would start her off on the right foot.”

“Ah, that sounds like an excellent idea.” He turned to his assistant. “Mrs Branson? Who’s available that shares Ms Sparrow's schedule?”

The secretary returned to her desk, seated herself and tapped at her keyboard for a few seconds. “Well, there's… there are quite a few… Huh. My screen's locked up.”

“Oh, dear,” said Finch.

“Don't worry, though, it queued up a few names first. One of them… Ah, it looks like Missy Kallenback is the best choice here. I'll send for her.”

“ _There you go, Harold,”_ Root murmured through his earbud, “ _I'll hack her phone too if you get them to call it.”_

“I'm sorry to be such a bother, but if her cell phone number is in your records, would you mind sending a text message to her rather than broadcasting it. If that's alright with you, of course,” he said to the principal. “It would be more discreet, and Gen hates to stand out.”

“Normally we have a no cellphones during school hours policy, but first period hasn’t started yet. I suppose we could make an exception.”

Duly summoned, Missy Kallenback arrived shortly after. She was a petite brunette who clearly favored soft, comfortable clothes over stylish ones. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail. Her long bangs, together with her brown glasses frames and the colors of her clothing, made her look like a pastel-hued mouse peeking through a black silk curtain. She lingered in the doorway until the principal called her over.

“Ah, Missy. This is Gen Sparrow. She's new here, just starting today. Would you do us a favor and show her around? You and she have nearly the same schedule.

Missy nodded her assent.

“Good, good. Mrs Branson, if you would give Ms Sparrow her schedule, locker assignment and shopping list…? Thank you. Goodbye, ladies. Have fun.”

“Have a good day, Gen. I'll see you after school,” said Finch.

“Bye, Dad. Love you!”

“Now, Mr. Sparrow, you said you're interested in donating to rebuild our library…” The the principal's voice trailed behind the two girls as they went into the hall.

“So, where do you want to go first?” Missy asked.

“Can we go see where the Lizard attacked? That sounds so wild.”

“Oh, wow, yeah.” Her eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Come on. OK, I was right here when it happened. I was coming in these doors and there's the stairs and the bathroom he came up from is around the corner over there to the right.”

“No. Way.”

“Way! So I just come in these doors and I'm walking to the stairs on my way to English class, but right then I hear this thumping and banging and then screaming.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“So of course I think 'what the hell?' and aim my cell at the noise to take the video of whatever's coming. It was huge! If it stood up straight it would've hit its head on the ceiling. It just walks around the corner like it's looking for something.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? Everybody's running. And then it starts heading this way, so I run too.” Missy sighed.

“Holy. Crap. Can I see the video?”

“I wish. I don't remember what happened, but the next thing I know, I'm outside, a cop is checking me for concussion and my phone is gone. I guess it must have gotten knocked out of my hand somewhere and I just didn't notice in the panic.”

“Aw…”

“It was brand new. My mom gave it to me for my birthday that morning. I didn't even get a chance to configure it or load my files.” Missy sighed.

 

“ _That's a darn shame,”_ said Root, “ _Lets keep our eyes open for that phone. If the SIM chip is working, we may be able to trace it if it gets turned on again.”_

“Feel like taking a walk, Lionel?” asked Reese.

Fusco looked incredulous and put-upon. “It's been three weeks.You really think that phone is anywhere around here? Unless… We should check the storm drains.”

“And the bushes.”

“Yeah, after they lock up.”

 

“So anyway how did you wind up at Midtown?” asked Missy.

Gen grimaced. “Oh, well. I asked to come. My dad sent me to a girl's prep school. Swear to God it was like a nunnery, or something. Study, study, study… Which is OK, don't get me wrong, but I wanted a science track, and they were all about humanities. So I started acting up, ran away, got kicked out, whatever.”

“What'd you do?”

“Well…” She grinned. “I started with bugging the entire faculty…”

“Bugging them about what?” asked Missy.

“ _Gen, Sweetie,”_ murmured Root's voice through the earbud at the same time, “ _now is not the time to get into your little hobby.”_

‘Oh, right,’ Gen reminded herself, ‘civilians don’t do that.’ And there was the number. Eugene was approaching him.

“Yo, Parker!” The loud hail was followed by Eugene bending down to Peter's ear and speaking in a lower voice.

“Huh? What? Oh...” she gestured toward the two boys at the lockers. “Whoa, what's with those guys? They look pretty intense.”

“Oh, crap,” Missy sighed, “Not again. Peter, the shorter one? He's nice and really smart.”

“And...?” Gen took out her phone while Missy was distracted by the boys, and surreptitiously hacked Eugene's cell.

“That's Flash. He's not so smart. Or nice. But he's the captain of the basketball team, so he walks water on every jerkass thing he does. Do you like basketball?”

“Meh.” She set her earbud a little more firmly.

Peter closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on the edge of his opened locker door. If Gen hadn't hacked the other boy's phone, she wouldn't have been able to hear them.

“… _grades back up, so he's pretty sore at you.”_

“ _I care, why?”_

Flash inhaled deeply. “ _What do you want from me?”_ he muttered.

“ _What do I want from you?”_ Peter snarled softly. “ _How about if you decide whether you want to fuck off or not? How about that?”_

Flash raised his hands and stepped away. “ _OK, fine. I deserve that.”_ He began to shift away, and then stopped.

“ _What!”_

“ _Look, Parker… I wouldn't be bugging you if it weren't for the team, OK? But that guy, he really needs a tutor.”_

Peter's face was stone.

“ _And we're going to be short a point guard if he stays suspended.”_

Peter set his jaw and reached into his locker to take his English books out.

“ _Maybe you could—”_ Flash started Peter as shut his locker decisively and whirled to face him.

“Could _what_ , Flash?” Gen didn't need the earbud to hear him now. “You want me to tutor Hodge, now? Maybe take him home with me?”

“Oh.” Flash stepped back. “Uh…”

“Yeah, sure. Why not. He'll be like the puppy I never wanted. God, I hope he doesn't try to hump my leg!”

“No!” Flash flushed an angry pink. “I meant, um, maybe you—you know somebody?”

“Oh, shit.” Missy caught Gen's arm and began to pull her toward the classroom.

“Why? What's wrong?” Gen whispered.

“Chris's a pig! C'mon!” she whispered urgently.

“Forget it, Flash. I can't think of anybody I hate that much.”

Peter began to walk toward his next class. Unfortunately, that was the same room Missy and Gen were going to, and Flash saw her.

“What about Kallenback? Hey, Kallenback!”

She stopped, took a deep breath. “Shit…” she moaned, and turned. “What is it, Flash?”

“You wanna help the team and get Hodge's grades back up?”

Her whole body winced. “Nnnnyyyeeaah…?”

“Don't,” said Peter and held his hands up and his head down with his eyes shut tight. “Missy, don't… You don't have to.”

She looked at him hopefully, and he sighed.

“So you'll do it?” asked Flash.

“Yes, but I. Am. Not. _Ever_. Doing his homework for him. If he can't get that through his thick head…”

“I'll tell him. Thanks, man. I totally owe you for this.” Flash grabbed at Peter for a quick side hug, thought better of it, and bounded down the hall.

Peter turned to a locker and banged his head softly on the door

“Sounds like you have someone else to check out,” Gen muttered to Root as she settled at her desk.

“ _I'll let you know what I find.”_

 

20 May (Monday) 08:45  
MHS LAN cam D & E  
Subject: Thompson, Eugene “Flash”  
Subject: Hodge, Christopher Todd “Chris”

Root bent over her keyboard. “Now what can you tell me about our new player, hmm?”

Query Subject: Hodge, Christopher Todd “Chris”  
SSN: 613-XX-XXXX  
Desc: DOB 11/2/XXXX Ht 190 Wt 85 HC Blond EC Blue  
Occupation: Student, Midtown High School, senior class, transferred junior year  
Disciplinary actions: junior year, level 3 B31-c & level 4 B-37, 4-week suspension from extracurricular activities  
Extracurricular activities: Basketball team (currently on academic suspension)  
Arrest record: none found

“Parker?!” Hodge slammed his locker shut. “Are you effin' serious?”

Flash bent to tie his shoelaces.

“This whole situation is that little shit's fault!”

“How?” He sat up. “You're lucky he only told you to fuck off and didn't report you. So now he says he'll help you get your head around chem and algebra, but you gotta suck it up and do the work. And be nice to him. He's doing you a favor.”

“After he got me in this mess.”

Flash inhaled sharply. “I mean it, man. Hands off.”

“You push him around all the time.”

“I still don't try to make him do my homework.” Flash shrugged as he rose from the bench. “You get zero shits from me. I told you he wasn't gonna, but you wouldn't listen. You want back on the team? Sit your ass down with Parker.”

“Come on, man! Have you actually spent any time with that dork? I'd rather pull out my own fingernails than listen to him for five minutes. You already got the best one. Stacy's all right. Hey, how about that little she-nerd, that one with the glasses? No tits, but she'd rock a naughty librarian look if she ever let her hair down. She's good at science, right?”

Flash gritted his teeth. “Oh, forget it. I'll just tell him you're not interested. You are one seriously dumb mother-fucker, you know that?”

“Tell me you aren't doing Stacy.”

“No.” Flash looked at him coldly. “I am not 'doing' Stacy.”

“Can I have her then?”

“Ask her. I don't care.” Flash shrugged. “Because Stacy is not my girlfriend. Never was, never will be. She'd seriously need her head examined if she took you on, but that's her problem.”

“You're not tapping that? Oh, that's right. She prefers Parker.”

Flash pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am this close to no longer giving a fuck if you ever get back on the team.”

“OK, OK, I'm just playing with you.” Hodge grinned. “Tell Parker I want to meet him. We'll set it up for tomorrow.”

“You tell him.”

“Yeah sure. I'll stick a note in his locker or something. You done?”

Flash took a breath to answer, but before he could speak a bald man in a white polo shirt and shorts blasted a whistle. “Thompson! Get your ass on the court!”

“Later, dipshit,” Flash husked. He turned and stalked off.

“Hodge!” The man with the whistle gestured to the showers. “Get out of here and don't come back until you're cleared.”

“Yes, Coach Morse.”

 

“What's the word?” asked Gen. She was taking advantage of the break between classes to catch up to her team as she waited for an open stall in a ladies' room.

“ _I strongly doubt,”_ said Finch, “ _that Mr. Hodge has anything to do with the people following Peter. No arrest record in New York, but his family has moved a lot and it's very hard to check information in juvenile records out of state. We'll keep looking and keep a close eye on him when they're together._

“What's his deal then?”

“ _Peter refused to do his homework for him, and he can't play basketball until his grades get back up,”_ Root said. Gen could almost see her smile as she said it.

“ _He blames Mr. Parker for the situation,”_ interjected Finch. “ _Not at all a rational position, which causes concern. His disciplinary record suggests it's not the first time he's tried this stunt. He really ought to know better by now.”_

“ _Curses, foiled again,”_ said Root cheerfully _. “I'd be just as worried about him bothering Missy. She's right about him being a pig. We should do something about that. It's a public service, right?”_

“We live to serve,” said Gen.

The rest of Gen's school day consisted of watching Peter sleep and/or study in class; watching Peter and Gwen Stacy look longingly at each other, sigh and turn away; and watching Peter, Gwen and Flash brood. She also got to be ogled by Hodge in the cafeteria and patronized by Liz the Cheer Queen in gym. At least Missy wasn't—thank God—pining over anyone. (Gen couldn’t say the same for that big lug who made cow eyes at Missy whenever she wasn’t looking. Seriously, how could she not notice that? He was huge!) By the time classes ended Gen had assembled a thorough brief on Midtown’s personalities, factions and politics: all the stuff a spy needed to know.

Even so, all the teenage drama was tiresome and she had developed a strong desire to punch something repeatedly by five o’clock. Instead, she and Fusco spent the remaining daylight hours combing the school grounds for Missy's lost cell phone while Shaw tried (and failed) to tail Peter, Reese monitored the Tahoe gang, and Finch and Root dug for info on who had gotten Konzacki out of Rikers.

“C'mon Squirt,” said Fusco as the sun set, “let’s go get some chow.”

“Can we do something violent after?”

“Yeah, sure. Wanna shoot something?”

“ _Detective!”_

“Relax, Glasses, she needs to work on her aim anyway, alright? I'll take her to the police range. It's perfectly safe.”

“ _Oh, very well.”_

“So how about it?”

“That sounds perfect,” said Gen. “I want to learn to shoot like Root does.”

“Sister,” said Fusco, “nobody shoots like Looney Tunes does.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new number gets in trouble everywhere he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Rahlian once again for the beta read and the great suggestions! All mistakes are my own.

21 May (Tuesday) 16:03  
MHS LAN cam B  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika  
Subject: Parker, Peter

Gen's Tuesday went the same way her Monday did up until just after the regular classes finished. Parker was supposed to meet up with Hodge for the tutoring session soon, so she was lurking near Parker's locker to observe them. There was no sign of Hodge until Parker picked up the folded piece of paper that fell out when he opened his locker door. An expression of rigid fury crossed his face briefly as he read it. Then he wadded it up and threw it into a waste bin halfway down the hall while simultaneously bolting for the stairs.

Gen frowned and strode to the bin to retrieve the note. “That's strange. Did you see that?”

“ _It looks like Mr Hodge left a note,”_ said Finch. “ _He said he would.”_

“I didn't like the look on Parker's face. Hang on. Oh…”

“ _What is it?”_

“It says 'HAY PARKER ILL GET KALNBEK INSTED N LIBERRY SUCK IT.’” She sent a picture of it to Finch's cell and walked rapidly to the stairwell after Parker.

“This _was written by a senior?”_ said Finch. “ _He spelled four words correctly and two of those are invective. I weep for the future.”_

“Finch, I'm heading there now, but that's one of the areas we couldn't wire.”

“ _Ms Groves traced Ms Kallenback to the women's locker room.”_

“OK, good. I'll go check on her first. How about Hodge?”

“ _He's…”_ Finch sighed in exasperation. “ _His cell's in 307, where he had Basic Chemistry this afternoon.”_

“Great. He either lost it or got it confiscated.” Gen rubbed her forehead. “Parker's cell?”

“ _Off, as usual.”_

“Flash's, then.”

“ _He's in the men's locker room.”_

“OK, tap into him, just in case Hodge shows up there. I'll go get Missy and tell her what he wrote.”

Nobody was in the locker room. Gen found Missy's phone in the trash bin just inside the lady's locker room door when she called the number. She turned to run to the library.

 

21 May (Tuesday) 16:23  
MHS LAN cam D  
Subject: Thompson, Eugene “Flash”  
Subject: McKeever, Brian "Tiny"

“Hey Flash?” Tiny asked. He had nearly finished putting his street clothes on.

“Yeah,” Flash zipped his jeans. “What is it?”

“I thought you got Parker to tutor Hodge.”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, Hodge went by the stands just after practice holding hands with Missy. Not cool setting him up with her, man.”

 

“ _Ms Zhirova, do you see them?”_

“No. They're locking up in ten minutes, and nobody here remembers any of them.”

“ _One of Flash's teammates saw Ms Kallenback with Mr Hodge with less than twenty minutes ago.”_

“Shit!”

“ _They're in the men's locker room getting ready to leave. Hurry.”_

“Copy that.”

 

Flash looked suspicious. “I didn't. What'd he say?”

“Parker?

“Hodge!”

“Oh, I thought you meant Parker.”

Flash's brow knit in puzzlement. “Why would I…”

“'Cause he came by earlier. Looking for Hodge. Do you think they're dating?”

“What!? Who? No. What!?”

“'Cause I thought she didn't like Hodge.”

“She _doesn't_. Where'd they go?”

“Dunno, man. Hodge said the usual place. Hey, do you think she'd go out with me?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Think. Missy. Would. Go. Out. With. Me?”

“Ask her!”

Tiny fidgeted with his jacket zipper pull. “But what if she says no? She's really smart, and I—”

“Hey!” They both turned at the sound of Gen's hail.

“This is the _men's_ locker room!” yelped Tiny.

“Yeah! Get out,” said Flash.

“Where's Missy?”

Flash shook his head. “Kallenback _again?_ Don't know; don't care. Get out!”

“Read this.” She gave him the note.

He read it without a word, handed it to Tiny, and yanked his T-shirt on. “Where'd you find this?”

“Parker threw it away after he found it in his locker.”

“I don't get it,” Tiny said, frowning at the note.

“Because it's written in Illiterate Goon,” snapped Gen. “Let me translate into Human for you: Hodge says he'll get Missy and he'll see Parker in the library.”

“Oh, yeah. That's what it says.”

“They're not there,” she said. “If they ever were, they're gone now.”

“Oh.” Tiny bit his lip. “That's not good.”

“Fuck, it's not good.” Flash scowled.

“You know him. _Where_ would he take her?”

Sudden realization crossed his face. “Tiny, follow me.” Flash was still pulling his jacket on as he went to the locker room door. He skidded to a stop and turned to Gen. “And you! Call the cops.”

“ _Ms Zhirova, I can’t find them on any of the LAN cameras you and I installed nor on the CCTV.”_

“ _She doesn’t see him on anyone else’s device either,”_ added Root.

“ _They're in a dead zone. Be careful.”_

She was running up the stairs now after Flash and Tiny. “Great, there are, like, dozens places we couldn't cover.”

“ _We're tracking Flash, and we've notified Fusco and Reese.”_

“Who’s closer?”

“ _Fusco.”_

“Put me through to him.”

She followed them up to the top floor, to one of the rooms where the art classes met. Flash and Tiny were struggling on the floor near the last door down the hall. Flash had locked his legs around Tiny’s and was gripping his head and shoulder in a half nelson. His other hand was clamped over Tiny's mouth.

“I told you to call the cops,” he whispered to Gen.

“Done,” she whispered back. “They're on the way now. What's going on?”

“He made Parker tie himself up. He's holding Missy and he has a knife.” He shook Tiny. “Be quiet!” he hissed. “He might hurt her if we spook him. We have to wait.” Finally, Tiny relaxed and nodded. Flash let him go.

“...wound up good and tight. OK, perfect. I finally figure out how to make you do what I tell you.” Hodge's voice was faint but clear. “On your knees.”

“Let her go, Chris,” said Peter.

“Naw, she'll go tell somebody.”

“You don't want her. You're not mad at her. It's me you want to teach a lesson, right?”

“I dunno...”

“Look, let’s compromise. See that closet over there? Put her in it and block the door with the teacher's desk. Then it's just you and me.”

“Fine with me. Yeah, OK. Lie down on your back and don't move.”

“Just don't hurt her. You hurt her, and I'm running. I'll wait right here for you.”

“No!”

“Missy, it's OK,” Peter said.

“Let me go! _Let me go!_ _**Let me go!** _ ”

“ _Missy!_ It's going to be OK. Just… just get in the closet, shut the door and let us work this out, OK?”

 

“ _Where are you?”_ asked Fusco.

She turned away from the door and whispered, “main building, fourth floor, room on the south end. ETA?”

“ _Gimme five. Comin' in the front door.”_

“Who you talking to?” asked Tiny.

“A cop.”

“Oh.”

“She's getting in the closet,” said Flash. They all heard the heavy click of the deadbolt when she locked it.

“Hey, Moron!” yelled Peter, “you ever noticed all the closets lock from the inside? It's a safety feature!”

“Hey!” Hodge rattled the knob. “Bitch! Open the door!”

“Screw you, Chris!” Missy yelled from inside the closet. “Peter! Run!”

“No you don't,” snarled Hodge as he went for Peter. Peter rolled left and kicked an easel and then a stool at him, hitting him square in the chest and then in the face. Hodge lunged, knife extended. Peter blocked him with another stool and rolled away again.

“Hodge!” Flash flung open the door. “What the hell are you doing?” He seized the wastebasket by the door, bounced it off Hodge's forehead and dove into the room as Peter continued to roll away.

“Oh, you fucker!” Hodge yelled and charged Flash.

He slashed wildly, catching Flash low in the ribs as Flash threw a right cross to his jaw, knocking him back. Flash fell to his knees. Meanwhile, Peter somehow got himself untangled from his hoodie, up to his feet and behind Flash in one continuous motion. He grabbed the back of Flash’s jacket at the neck and pulled him away just as Hodge charged and slashed at him again. In nearly the same moment, Tiny seized Hodge in a bear hug from behind, gripping around his chest and arms. Gen snaked in from the side to take advantage of Hodge's momentary immobility. She grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and chopped sharply on the point of his elbow, shivering his funny bone with the edge of her cell phone. The knife flew from his suddenly senseless hand to spin away under the teacher's desk, but Hodge didn't stop struggling until Fusco burst into the room with his gun drawn.

“Freeze! NYPD!” He looked at Gen and Tiny, holstered his weapon and snapped a handcuff on Hodge's right wrist. “Nice work,” he said, and cuffed the left also as Tiny and Gen held it for him.

“I'm sorry,” Peter gasped. “I'm sorry.” He lay Flash on the floor. “Sorry. All my fault.” He stared at the blood that was seeping through his shirt and pooling under him. “Sorry.”

“Ow! Fuck, that hurts,” Flash wheezed, clutching at his bleeding side.

“Parker, you little shit!” yelled Hodge. “I'm gonna—”

“Hey! Dumb-ass! You have the right to remain silent.” Fusco shook his shoulder. “So shut your cake hole. You in the closet!”

“Yes?” came the muffled voice behind the closet door.

“It's safe; you can come out now.”

Gen ran to check on Missy. Tiny was close behind.

“I see you've been busy, Lionel,” Reese stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Fusco looked up. “Nice of you to join us. I believe we in the cop biz call this assault with a deadly weapon. Which is…?” He looked at Gen.

“Under the desk,” she said.

Reese came in and knelt down to inspect Flash's wound. “He's gonna need stitches; better call a wagon.”

“No! The nurse can do it.” Flash tried to sit up. “Ungh!”

“Let me see.” Reese eased him back down and pulled his bloody jacket and torn shirt aside. “Nope, doesn't look too deep, but it's long. You're gonna need painkillers and antibiotics. And a tetanus shot, maybe.” He rolled up up a length of Flash's shirt from the hem and placed it over the wound. “Peter?”

Peter stared up at him, his eyes wide and shocky. “Yeah?”

“Keep pressure on this. Firm, but not too hard. OK?”

“OK.”

Fusco held his phone to his ear. “This is Detective Lionel Fusco, Homicide. I'm at Midtown High School in Queens, Main Building 4th floor, room number 408. A student here just stabbed another one…”

“Attempted murder,” said Reese, with a cheerful smirk.

“...we need an ambulance...”

“He took my hair ties!” Missy glared at him from Gen's shoulder. Her hair tumbled wild and loose around her head and down her back. “And he _touched_ me!”

“Сволочь!” hissed Gen.

“Hey, hey, hey! You watch your language, young lady!” said Fusco. “Sorry, one of my witnesses is a little riled up.”

“What she said!” Tiny gave Hodge a dirty look over Missy's and Gen's heads.

“And he took my phone,” added Missy.

“Sexual harassment, assault, theft…” Reese's smirk twisted into a sneer. “Hope your parents know some good lawyers.”

“…multiple charges against this individual. There's him, three victims and two witnesses… I _assume_ he's a minor. It's a high school, for Christ's sake.”

“Oh, I found your phone,” said Gen, “Here.”

“Thank you. That video I took, you jerk? It's going up on my page as soon as I get a connection. Everybody on Earth is going to see you grabbing me.”

“Whoa, you got evidence when he attacked you? Give that phone here.” Fusco held out his hand.

“No! That's the second one this month,” she wailed.

“Don't worry, Princess, we just need the file for evidence against this creep. You'll get it back.”

Sirens began to howl in the distance.

 

“Oh, darn.” Root pouted at her screen. “This would have been helpful to know sooner.”

“What is it?” asked Finch.

She turned her monitor so he could see it. “Mommy and Daddy have afforded _several_ good lawyers. In California, in Texas, in Florida…”

“Tsk. Yes, if we'd known that before, we would have certainly kept a closer eye on him. Fortunately, he's in custody now. At least we can get some good use out of this situation.” He picked up his phone and hit 5. “Hello, Dr Tillman? Yes, it's me. I'm afraid I need a favor… Are you anywhere near Forest Hills Hospital?… I'm going to need you in the Emergency Room there shortly to treat a stabbing victim the police are bringing in… Thank you. I've sent a taxi to you; it should be arriving now… Yes, I'm sending Dr Shaw too. Thank you again. Goodbye.”

“What are you doing, Harold?”

“Notifying Ms Shaw and Dr Tillman that we need them to get ready to treat Flash. This is too good a chance to miss. Ms Shaw?”

“ _I don't work there, Finch,”_ said Shaw.

“You will for the next few hours. Don't worry; I'm arranging everything.”

“ _Fine, but who's going to watch our number?”_

“No need to worry; he's going to be spending most of the evening at the 112th Precinct giving his statement along with the other witnesses. He'll be safe there.”

 

21 May (Tuesday) 17:44  
CCTV 72 Forest Hills Hospital ER, Cubicle 5  
Asset: Reese, John  
Asset-assist: Tillman, Megan  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen  
Subject: Thompson, Eugene “Flash”

“Take off your jacket and shirt, please. And the rest of your clothes.”

Flash slid his jacket off and pulled in a pained hiss as he began to pull his T-shirt over his head.

“Dr Shaw, could you help him out? 'Detective' if you'd hand him one of those gowns?”

“Ow. I liked that shirt…” Flash said mournfully. His face fell. “Do I have to wear that?”

“Yes, sorry. There we go.” Dr Tillman glanced over at Reese with one eyebrow raised ironically and took Flash's clothes. “Thank you.”

“Wait. What're you here for?” asked Flash.

“Evidence,” said Reese, and held out a bag for Dr. Tillman. “Keep going.”

“My pants too?”

“You bled on them, right? Them too. And your shoes and socks.”

“It's only a _little_ blood.”

“Sorry, but I don't want the C.S.I.s on my case.” He smiled thinly. “They're relentless.”

Flash sighed, pulled the gown on, undid his fly and stood to push his jeans and shorts down.

“You're wobbling,” Dr Tillman said. She put the blood pressure cuff on his arm when he sat back down.

“I feel fine,” he protested.

“BP's a little too low. Ringer's, Ringer's…” she murmured to herself as she removed an IV kit from a cabinet.

“Here, let me,” said Shaw. “Lie down. Left hand.” She clamped a sensor onto his forefinger and set about inserting the I.V.

“And a little something to take the edge off.” Dr Tillman smiled down at Flash as she shot the contents of the syringe into the I.V. tube’s Y-point.

“Oooh. Thanks Doc. Doc.” Flash was asleep in less than two minutes.

“He's out,” she said. “Was this really necessary? Just a local would have been fine.”

“We need you to examine the rest of him after he's stitched up,” said Reese.

“And what are we supposed to be looking for?”

“Evidence of abuse.”

“Hm.” She moved each section of the hospital gown out of her way as she worked.

 

“Heya Officer Thompson. Lionel Fusco, nice to meet you.” Fusco held out his hand to a man he easily recognized as Flash’s father; he looked like a more bitter, craggier and older version of his son.

“Fusco… you're the guy that took down HR, aren't you?” Thomson held out his own hand in return. “That was good work.”

“Naw, that was my partner, Carter. All I did was bring in the piece of garbage who killed her.”

“Well, good job, anyway.” His mouth twisted in a disgusted grimace. “What's my bonehead son done now?”

“Got stabbed protecting some other students. Come on over here,” said Fusco as he pulled out his notebook. “I gotta ask you a few things. OK, so how well do you know the other kids on the team?”

“Not real well; I haven't coached for years. Why you asking? One of them do this?”

“Engh, not sure you can say that exactly. I'm just trying to get some background here. So tell me; has he ever mentioned…”

 

“I don't see any obviously suspicious scars aside from these old ones on his arm and shoulder. There are bruises at various stages of healing all over him. Normally that rings bells, but he's on the basketball team, right? They could just have happened while he was playing.”

“An X-ray or MRI could show if there was something more,” said Shaw.

“Which is better?” asked Reese.

“MRI’s better for soft tissue; X-ray’s better for bones,” said Dr. Tillman. “But Radiology closed at four o'clock. We can't do either now anyway.”

“You hear that, Finch?”

“ _Just a moment…”_ He tapped at his keyboard. “ _There._ _The personnel and equipment_ _will be ready by the time you get him up to Radiology.”_

“Let's go,” said Shaw.

Dr. Tillman's brows furrowed in an exasperated frown. “Wait. First of all, I need parental consent for this, and second, why don't you just pull his records?”

“That's a good question, Shaw.” Reese smirked. “Why don't we just pull his records?”

“Did that day before yesterday,” she said.

“Honestly, you people! 'Boundaries.' Ever heard of them?”

“People mention them sometimes. Why?” Reese picked up her clipboard. “Give me a minute, I'll go get that form signed for you.”

 

“Lionel.”

“Oh, look who's here. What'd the doctor say?”

“She needs a parent or guardian to sign this.”

Thompson sneered. “I already gave permission when they called.”

“CYA,” he said, shrugged, and handed the clipboard to Flash's father. “And I'm running these over to the lab anyway, so…”

“Yeah, fine.” Fusco looked the bag. “Ain't they done in there yet?”

“Not yet. They need to run some tests.”

“What's that?” asked Thompson, and nodded at the bag.

“The victim's clothes. He bled on all of them, so they're all evidence now.”

“Even the shoes?” asked Thompson.

“Them too. Well, the left, but I'm taking both. What good is one shoe going to do him anyway?”

Thompson licked his lips “How is he?”

“Sedated, at the moment, but the doc says he can maybe go home later tonight. The sooner you sign those, the sooner I can get them back to her.”

“I'm coming too.”

“In that case, why don't you just take this in with Fusco, and I'll be on my way.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Officer Thompson was shocked silent at the still form of his son on the gurney. He patted him on the shoulder and left without another word. By the time Flash was back in Dr. Tillman's cubicle again, his scans and X-rays had already been sent to some experts in Washington DC that Finch consulted with from time to time. He might have been stretching the truth by suggesting the victim's life could be in danger, but he couldn't help but feel some urgency given the circumstances.

 

Stacy was there when he woke up.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hhhh.” He swallowed, and managed to rasp, “hey.”

“How you feeling?”

He considered this a moment. “OK.”

“Thirsty?”

“Yeah.”

She held a cup with a straw to his lips. “I stopped by your house to say goodbye. Jesse told me what happened. She gave me these for you.” She nudged the bag of clothes on the chair next to the bed.

“Do you have to go? Parker may be acting like a dick, but he really cares about you.”

“Peter cares too much, so yes, I have to go.” She surveyed the sight of him in the gurney and her lips twisted into a smile that had not trace of amusement in it. “It's going to drive him crazy that he didn’t stop this.”

“Why? It's not like it's his fault. He doesn't even like me.”

“You're going to find out that—” she began and turned at the sound of the rings of the privacy curtain sliding along the rail.

Flash recognized the terser of the two doctors who had treated him earlier. “Oh, hi Doc.”

“Discharging yourself?” She raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“I… Yeah. Is that OK?”

She shrugged. “Fusco!” she called down the aisle. “He's awake. Move your ass if you want his statement before he shoves off.”

“Goodbye, Flash.” Gwen leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Be nice to Pete,” she whispered, “and look after him. He’s not good at taking care of _himself_.”

“I'm beginning to get that,” he answered, and then she was gone.

 

21 May (Tuesday) 20:21  
NYPD 112th Precinct, 2FDSR 1 & 3  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika  
Subject: Parker, Peter  
Subject: Kallenback, Missy  
Subject: McKeever, Brian "Tiny"

'Swearing out my first criminal complaint is kind of a let-down,' Gen thought. She mostly had to tell them the truth, if not the whole truth. Parents and guardians were notified of the whereabouts of their children. Officers took their statements and went over the details until every last bit of information was squeezed out. Their persistence paid off when Tiny remembered he still had Hodge's note and produced it from his pocket. Peter stated that was the note he'd found in his locker. (He looked puzzled when Gen said he'd thrown it at the waste bin, not in it, but let it pass.) She said she had a bad feeling when she picked it up because she knew Missy would never go with Hodge willingly. The note was taken in evidence.

Reese joined them at around a quarter to seven, and the rest of the adults began to show up soon after he started reviewing Parker's statement.

“Hello, I'm Gracie Hopper? I've been told my niece is here? Her father is out of town on business, so she's staying with me. I've come to pick her up.”

“Aunt Gracie!” Gen smiled broadly at Root and ran to hug her.

She stroked Gen's hair back, smiled and said. “Well, Sweetie, you've had quite an adventure, haven't you?”

Gen nodded.

“Ready to go home?”

“Sorry Ma'am, we're almost done; just need to go over the details one or two more times.”

She smiled sweetly. “Of course, Detective…?”

He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “Lee, Ma'am. Marvin Lee.”

She nodded graciously and sat next to her 'niece.'

Hodge's parents came next, accompanied by a well-groomed man and woman in expensive suits. They didn't speak to anybody in the squad room except for the officer who came to guide them to Interrogation. They did look at everybody, however, and very closely too.

Mr Kallenback was very big, very loud and very indignant. He got progressively quieter but more indignant as he heard his daughter's story. Afterwards, he insisted on shaking Gen's hand and then Tiny's. Peter wouldn't unclasp his hands, so Mr. Kallenback clapped him heartily on the shoulder instead.

Aunt May rushed to Peter's side, looking like she was a hair's width from bursting into tears when she saw the blood on his cuffs and embedded under his fingernails.

“Oh, my boy, my boy.” She hugged him fiercely and held his hands.

“It's OK, Aunt May, It's not mine. Flash…” He swallowed hard.

“What happened?”

Peter shook his head, so she looked at the man behind the desk. “Detective Riley!”

“Hello, Mrs Parker. Won't you have a seat?”

“What happened?” She looked aghast as she sat. “Tell me everything. Does this have anything to do with those burglars?”

Peter's head went up. “ _Those_ burglars?” he said sharply.

“No ma'am. I'm afraid a student with a grudge attacked Peter and some other students.”

“Where _is_ Flash?” She gave Peter a searching look.

“He had to go to Emergency to get stitched up,” said Reese. “He'll be fine. Detective Fusco is getting his statement after the doctors finish with him.”

She sat back in her chair. “Who did this?”

“Chris Hodge,” said Peter bitterly. “You don't know him. I was supposed to meet him for a tutoring session. I guess he had other plans.”

“He tried to force Peter to do his homework for him—when was this, Peter?

“Two weeks ago.”

“We've notified Principal Davis. Peter refused, and Hodge lost his spot on the basketball team when his grades dropped too low for too long. Then he got… more stupid. Much more stupid”

“'It's me. My fault.” Peter hung his head.

“Peter!” exclaimed Aunt May.

“Peter. Listen to me. Are you listening?” Reese waited until Peter was looking him in the eye.

“Yeah.”

“You can choose to do the right thing, but you don't get to choose for other people. You hear me?”

“I should have known.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I should have stopped him.”

“You gave him two weeks to do the right thing. He decided not to. From what I hear, you _did_ stop him from hurting Missy.”

“But Flash—”

“Stopped him from hurting you. You made that choice. So did he.” He hit 'save' and closed the file. “I think we're done here. C'mon. I'll take you home.”

Tiny stood up. “Guess I better head out.”

“Aren't your parents coming to get you?” asked Missy.

“Naw...” He shrugged. “I didn't call them. My dad is working the late shift and my mom's not feeling so good. I'll be fine.”

“Nonsense!” said Mr Kallenback. “I bet you haven't had dinner yet, have you?”

“No, sir.”

“Thought not. You look like you're about to fall over, son. You come with me and Missy. We could use the company. Right?”

“We could go for pizza or something?” Tiny asked hopefully.

“That sounds great. I'm starving,” Missy said. “Dad, can we go to _The_ _π_?”

“That depends. Are you going to order bacon, potatoes and oysters on your pizza again?”

“Pleeeese, Dad? I've had a traumatizing day. I've been traumatized!”

“Your choice of pizza toppings traumatizes _me_. Sometimes I can't believe you're my daughter. How about the rest of you? Are you up for a pizza run?”

Peter shook his head and looked longingly at the door.

“That sounds wonderful,” said Aunt May, “But I think it's best if we just go home. Another time, perhaps.”

Root looked at Gen. “Bacon, potatoes _and_ oysters, That sounds very… interesting…”

“Maybe we could get one and take it home for Dad,” said Gen.

“Sold!” Root said brightly.

“ _Don't you dare, Ms Groves! It sounds perfectly ghastly.”_

“Well, Harold,” she muttered the first moment she was alone with Gen. “I have to have my fun somehow. There is no way that privileged snot worked with Konzacki. This whole thing has been a waste of our time.”

“ _In the short term, I grant you, but removing that vicious dullard will improve Midtown High in every respect. At least that's something.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Сволочь (Svoloch') is a Russian insult. It means like 'bastard' or 'scum'. Fusco knows enough Russian (see episode titled 'Endgame') to understand she said something offensive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new number has a lot of secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Rahlian for the help and advice for this chapter and for fixing those little bits in the previous ones! All mistakes are my own.
> 
> My head cannon for this whole fic is that it has been AU from the movie and comics due to something that happened between Peter and Flash after Uncle Ben died but before Peter made the Spider-man costume. This chapter is where the AU I've been thinking of becomes more clear. I will post a link to the fic that made me think of this AU at the end of this chapter.

22 May (Wednesday) 07:23  
Streetcam: Ingram Street, Forest Hills, Queens, New York City  
Green Hyundai Accord license LCL-8925  
Asset: Reese, John  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel  
Gray Chevrolet Tahoe GAX-4555  
Subject(s): unidentified

“Great weather for a picnic today.” Fusco reached out his open window and adjusted the rear-view mirror as he drove slowly down Ingram Street, across from where the Tahoe was parked. Reese, in the front passenger seat, looked intently at his cell phone.

“You go on picnics, Lionel?” Shaw hunched down in the back seat and watched out the back driver’s side window through her camera’s viewfinder. “I’d have thought cheap greasy spoons were more your style.”

“Yeah sure, I go on picnics. Been a while, but I go. How’s it look?”

“He’s picked up a passenger since last time.” She checked the image quality and then hit ‘send’. “I can’t make them out through the window tint. Hope Finch can get something off this.”

Reese returned his cell phone to the pocket of his bomber jacket. “Their phones are secured, same as always.”

“But still with the Tahoe. You’d think they’d change it up every once in awhile.”

Reese’s jaw tightened. “That’s a very good point, Lionel.”

“So this is a decoy, huh? We watching a decoy?”

“Maybe it’s been the decoy ever since Reese blocked the gang in the Cavalier,” said Shaw. “Those are the guys I worry about.”

“Or they’re lazy. The Cavalier guys? They know that car got made.” said Fusco. “Maybe these mooks didn’t figure this one did too.”

Shaw’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out and opened the images Finch sent. He had been able to clear them up enough that the men in the Tahoe would be recognizable outside the car. “The skinny one looks like he could be the other blond you saw Friday.”

She held out her phone to Reese and Fusco. Reese nodded. “That’s the guy; shooter two.”

She frowned. “The angle he’s at in this picture… He rings a bell now. I _think_ maybe I met him somewhere.”

Reese considered this. “Any echoes off that bell?”

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “Konzacki had enough work done I wouldn’t have recognized _him_ from the artist’s sketch even if I met him before. This guy’s probably the same.”

“If you’re anything like me,” said Fusco, “You won’t remember anything until right before you’re about to fall asleep tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “That how you solve all your cases, Fusco? Wait for naptime?”

“Face it; I’m a better detective in my sleep than you are wide awake.”

“ _Kids,”_ said Root, “ _Our subject is about to leave for another day of the hell that is high school. Let’s try not to lose him again, hm?”_

“This time _you_ get to ride the dorky bike.” Shaw smirked at Reese’s deadpan expression. “Don’t forget your dorky helmet.”

“So me in the car, you on the motorcycle, Batman here on a bike and Chock Full everywhere there’s a camera, and then we all meet up again at Midtown High. Think maybe _one_ of us can keep track of him this time?”

 

22 May (Wednesday) 08:28  
MHS LAN cam B  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika  
Subject: Thompson, Eugene “Flash”

“They lost him again, didn’t they?” Gen waved down the hall at Missy as she went into room 202.

Finch sighed. “ _Yes. They’ve regrouped and they’re waiting down the street in Detective Fusco’s car._

“Flash is hanging around over by the stairwell. No sign of Parker. Class starts in two minutes. What do you want me to do?

“ _There really is nothing you_ can _do. I’ve got Flash’s cell and the cameras if or when Mr Parker turns up. Go to class. I’ll be in touch when we know more.”_

She made a face. “Copy that.”

 

Peter got to his locker nearly thirty minutes late. Flash was loitering in the empty hall at the foot of the stairwell down the hall from it. He didn't say anything after he caught Peter's eye, just pointed with his chin off to his left, turned and walked. He was standing in front of the ruined restroom when Peter caught up to him. He looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching, lifted the yellow police tape and bent back the plywood board that covered the hole in the wall where the door frame used to be. Peter went in; he followed.

 

Gen glanced up to make sure the teacher's attention was on another part of the room before she bent down to rummage around in her backpack. “He's still not here,” she muttered as if talking to herself. “Do I have to go find him again?”

“ _No, Ms Zhirova. We have eyes on him now. It looks like he and Flash are having a conversation. You just pay attention in class, and I'll let you know if anything requiring your attention comes up.”_

She sat up again and placed her forefinger on the first discussion question in her textbook. “This is a cunning plot, isn't it.”

 

22 May (Wednesday) 08:57  
MHS LAN cam A  
Subject: Parker, Peter  
Subject: Thompson, Eugene “Flash”

“You’re late Parker,” Flash said once they were alone.

“Got thinking and I guess I just lost track of time. Everything’s been crazy the last couple months. Uncle Ben, Gwen, school, the Lizard. You...”

“Yeah, me,” said Flash.

“I thought you'd stay home today. Your side feeling OK?”

“Wouldn't be here if it wasn't. I get hurt worse playing ball.”

Peter went and half sat on the radiator with his arms folded, leaning his back against the window behind it while Flash stood in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said abruptly.

“You’re sorry? What the hell do _you_ have to be sorry for?”

“Hodge.”

“I’m not here to talk about that asshole.”

“OK, say what you gotta say,” said Peter.

“Stacy left this morning.”

“I know.” Peter squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head back against the window

“Just… She doesn't deserve this.”

“No, she doesn't.” Peter sounded like he was at the end of his tether. “But why do _you_ keep butting in! Up until a week ago, whatever I did was no big deal to you. Even after that one ‘tutoring’ session last month.”

“I learned something about you since… then.”

Peter’s eyelid twitched and his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his biceps, but he showed no other outward sign that he was listening.

“OK… So the day after the attack, I go to school to practice my long shot. But the gym is locked. Don't know why 'cause the Lizard didn't go anywhere near there. So I'm walking around and checking out the damage. I find this cell phone in a trashed flower bed while I'm looking at everything. It was all smashed up, and the SIM card doesn't work, but the SD chip might have some files, so I think maybe I can figure out whose it is from that and give it back. You know, my good deed for the year. I plug it into my phone and the only files on it are some music videos from YouTube and a few more from around the school. Including one whoever was taking near your locker when the Lizard showed up.”

 

“Great. I spend how many hours looking for that thing, and this knucklehead has it the whole time,” Fusco observed bitterly.

“ _It could be worse, I suppose,”_ said Finch. “ _At least Flash is no longer a suspect.”_

“Oh, yeah.” Fusco rolled his eyes. “That makes it all better.”

 

“Oooh.” Peter’s forehead drooped as his hand rose to meet it.

“Right. It's only about fifteen seconds long. Everyone else's freaking out, but you just point at Stacy to go and then turn around and you stand there watching that thing while everyone's running past you.”

“I panicked?”

“Yeah, sure, if 'panic' means setting to take a run at him like you're doing when the video ends. It’s Gordon or A.J. all over again, but you’re not fighting _me_. No! _This_ time you decide to tackle a—a giant homicidal iguana! What were you _thinking_!”

Peter looked aside. “What do _you_ think I was thinking?”

“After driving Stacy away? And after that thing with Hodge yesterday? I think you have a death wish is what I'm thinking.”

“No…”

“What Hodge did—tried to do, that’s on me, and I think maybe the Stacy part is too.”

Peter stared at him. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“I’m a dick, OK? I messed up. I never should have asked you to help him. And…” He bit his lip. “I should have made sure you were OK. After. I’m sorry.”

Peter shut his eyes for a moment, “ _None_ of that is your fault, I swear! And I… And anyway there was nothing we needed to talk about. It’s not like I thought you’re the love of my life or anything, and it’s fine if you’re not that into me 'cause of the _gay_ thing—”

 

“What?” said Fusco. “The what?”

Reese rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s… unexpected.”

“We need popcorn.” Shaw snorted. “‘To go with this soap opera.”

 

“— _or_ the me thing.”

“That’s what _I_ thought.” Flash shrugged. “But you started avoiding me. More than usual. I thought maybe you were upset or whatever.”

“I had a choice, Flash. If I didn't want to do it, I would have said so.”

“OK. I just didn't want to bug you. So you're avoiding me and I’m cool with that. The next I know you're kissing Stacy at the football field, and I’m cool with that too. You knew where to find me if you had anything to tell me.”

“What could I _say_? You're nice to me—for the first time ever—one week, you punch me in the face the next ‘cause I made you stop picking on A.J. and you—you're—you're in my bedroom kissing me and all that the one after! I didn't know _what_ to say! And then Gwen invited me to meet her family…” His face fell. “They were really nice. Even when I pissed off her dad.”

“She came to the hospital to say goodbye to me yesterday. She's still crazy about you. Aren't you _ever_ going to…? ”

“No,” Peter sighed.

“See, that's what I don't get.” Flash wheeled and began to pace along the stalls. “She loves you. You care about her. You keep saying _I'm_ not the reason you broke up with her, but I don't know what else it can be.”

“You want to know what else? I’ll _tell_ you else. I killed her father.”

“What!? Oh, come on! The Lizard killed Captain Stacy!”

“And I created the Lizard!”

Peter clapped his hands over his mouth, but it was too late to stop his words. Flash stepped back and gaped at him.

 

“ _Oh,_ no _,”_ said Finch.

 

“How the hell do you figure that?”

Peter stared up at Flash, his eyes wide. “I can't—I can't talk about this.”

He moved to leave but Flash caught his shoulder and held him in place.

“No. No, no. 'I created the Lizard.' You're talking about it, or I'm calling Stacy tonight and asking her what the hell that means. She knows, right?”

Peter sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Yes, she knows. OK. OK, my father… When I was little… Are you really sure you want to hear this? It's kind of a long story.”

“Normally I'd be at practice right now. But since I got _stabbed_ yesterday I have lots of free time.”

“OK, fine. So before Mom and Dad left me with Uncle Ben and Aunt May, Dad was working on a research project.”

“Well, there's a surprise.”

“There—there was an equation for—it described—it described the relationship between cell regeneration and lifespan, among other things. It was one of the pieces they needed for making cross species genetics work on humans.”

“Sounds important.”

“So important.” Peter sighed. “But it was lost when they left. I didn't know about all that then. All I knew was something bad happened and they had to go. Mom was really scared… Their plane crashed, I found out later.”

“Oh. I didn't know that.” Flash looked down and his mouth twisted. “I'm sorry.”

Peter shrugged. “Anyway, a couple months ago the basement flooded… Oh, jeez, that—that was the day you beat me up in the quad—” A sudden flood of hysterical giggles escaped him, and he slid down the radiator to sit on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees as he shook.

Flash looked down at him. “Uh, sorry.”

Peter waved the apology off. “Anyway.” He finally gasped. “Anyway, I found Dad's briefcase. I guess he hid it down there when they dropped me off. I remembered it from when I was a kid. It had stuff in it, like about his projects at Oscorp, who he was working with... and this equation. So I had to go to Oscorp. You know, to figure what happened to my parents.”

 

Reese's eyes were slits. “Harold, what did you mean 'Oh no'?”

“ _Of course! I should have_ realized … _I should have seen it!”_

“What's wrong, Glasses?”

“ _I think we are about to learn what the perpetrators want with Mr Parker._ ”

 

“I bet you worked it out,” said Flash, “you and your big brain.”

“No. Well, some. So I went to see Dr. Connors; he worked with Dad.” Peter frowned. “I remembered him, a little. All he knew was that Mom and Dad up and left. He didn't know why or where they were going. He was pretty bitter about it, actually, but he told me what he and Dad were doing. It sounded really… really good. Like discovery of penicillin good or polio vaccine good. They wanted to figure out how to use cross-species genetics to cure diseases and help people regrow lost body parts.

Flash nodded. “Ohhh, like how a lizard can grow its tail back.”

“Exactly. Connors couldn't do it without Dad's formula. I gave it to him because he was Dad's friend and… and he wanted… He lost his arm… I thought it would help people!”

“So _what_ he used it to change into Minizilla. I still don't see how that's _your_ fault.”

“I didn't _just_ give him the equation, Flash! I studied it until I saw how it worked. I entered the algorithm into the Oscorp computer. I inserted the genes and ran simulations with him until we got one that accepted the splice. I synthesized the serum with him. Shit, I even held Fred—”

“Fred?”

“Fred and Wilma were Dr Connors' mice. They had three legs. I held Fred while Connors injected the serum into him.” He leaned his head back against the radiator and closed his eyes. “He said if it worked he'd start human trials the next week. I thought he was just joking, I _swear_. And then I forgot about all that because Uncle Ben was killed that same night.”

“Oh.”

“I was so wrapped up in helping Connors that I forgot I promised to walk Aunt May home from work. Uncle Ben already bawled me out earlier for what happened with you and the basketball, so this was the second time he went off on me that day. When he started talking about what a great man my dad was and—and how _responsible_ he was—not like me, and I… I got _mad_ 'cause I felt like Dad had left both me and Doc Connors high and dry. We had a big argument.”

“Aw, Pete.”

“I ran out of the house. He went out to look for me and… Then he… If I just…” Peter took a deep breath to steady himself and went on. “Anyway, the serum worked. _Voilà_ , a four-legged mouse.”

“Well, that doesn't sound so bad.”

“Until Fred turned into a monster lizard-mouse and ate Wilma.”

Flash’s eyes grew wide and then squeezed shut. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Yeah, but Connors already injected himself before I knew that would happen. The moment I saw Fred, that's when I knew who that thing on the Brooklyn Bridge was and why Dad kept his equation secret from him. From everybody.”

 

“Great, more suspects,” grumped Fusco. “Like, the whole city.”

“ _Oh hush,”_ said Root.

“ _No…”_ said Finch “ _No, not the whole city, but anyone who guesses that he has his father's work… Let alone that he might know how to apply it…”_

“Finch?” Reese frowned worriedly.

“ _I'm afraid this situation is far more grave than I ever imagined. Ms Shaw!”_

“Here.” she leaned over from the back seat to face the videocam.

“ _Our priorities have shifted. I need you to start surveillance on May Parker right away. They may use her as a lever against Peter.”_

“Understood.” She got out of the car and strode to her motorcycle.

 

“ _Ms Zhirova?”_

Gen jolted in her seat enough to make Missy turn and look at her. “Mmm?” she hummed into her mic.

“ _Excuse yourself from whatever class you're in and go to the restroom the Lizard came in through. I want you to watch the hall outside. Surveillance only, do you understand?_

“Mm-hm. Lady's room, gotta go,” she whispered to Missy, and pulled on her hoodie. She left her bag and books at her desk.

 

“What'd you do then?”

“I went to the police station to tell Gwen's dad. He thought I was trolling him. Then he thought I was out of my mind. He told me to get lost.”

“And then?”

“I tried to get proof I wasn't crazy, but that didn't work out so good. I guess that's when Connors figured I was on to him.”

“Oh. My. God.” Flash looked like a light-bulb had just gone off in his head. “He came here to _kill_ you! You knew why he was here, didn't you! You stayed to fight him.”

“What? What? No—I—no!”

“Stop _lying_ to me!” Flash stared down at him. “I saw the video, remember?”

“OK, all right. But I had to. He came for me. He was there because I just had to go blab Dad's secret to the worst possible person after my 'big brain' figured it out.” Peter wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. “I should have realized how bad he wanted his arm back.”

“He... How did you... Dude! Spider-man saved your life!”

“Dude! I'm— I—” His breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed hard. “Spider-man has an arrest warrant out on him. You start spreading it around I have anything to do with him, the cops are going to haul me in and ask me questions I can't answer. You can't tell _anybody_.”

“Yeah, OK, I get that. So what happened then?”

“OK, so Gwen called to see if I was OK; I told her what was happening and that she had to go to Oscorp to make the antidote.”

 

“That's it! That's how Stacy's kid knew what to do!” Fusco returned Reese's look. “What? It was buggin' me.”

 

“Why didn't _you_ do it?”

“I was in the sewers.”

“Dude, what?”

“I went in there,” Peter pointed at the boarded-over hole in the floor, “during the whole Lizard thing, and I—I couldn't get to Oscorp fast enough.”

 

“ _Ah! Yes,”_ said Finch, “ _yes, that explains his location when he got the call from Ms Stacy and where he was when he called her later.”_

 

“The Lizard came this,” he held his fingers a half-inch apart, “close to getting his claws on her while the antidote was processing. I found out later.” Peter sighed, “And that's how I got almost got Gwen killed along with Uncle Ben and Captain Stacy. And nearly you too, yesterday.”

“Oh, fuck that noise.”

Peter looked up at him as he knelt down in front of him and put his hands on the radiator to either side of Peter's head. He leaned in close.

“Listen to me. The guy that got your uncle killed is the guy that fucking shot him.”

“But _I_ let—”

“Stop. Connors is a moron. Everybody who ever watched a horror movie knows what happens to people who experiment on themselves. Stacy’s _fine_. And the person who almost got me killed was Hodge—well, me too a little 'cause I trusted him even though I knew him.”

“You… That's… OK, thanks.”

“Feel better?

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Good, 'cause I'm gonna kiss you now.”

Peter smiled wanly. “Oh, so this time you're warning me?”

“Yeah.” He leaned in, and Peter put his hand up to hold him back.

“Wait, Flash, there's still stuff you don't know. I—.”

“Yeah, turns out I actually _am_ an idiot. Go figure.”

“Flash, I'm not _safe_! I—”

“Shut up.” Flash caught Peter's chin in one hand and, cupping the back of his head with the other, turned Peter's mouth up to his. After a moment Peter wrapped his arms around Flash to pull him in close.

 

“ _Oh, look at them. They are so cute!”_ said Root over the speaker.

Fusco raised his eyebrows. “Aw geez, I hope you people aren't opening us all up to a kiddie porn rap. That would look real bad on my record.”

“ _Thank you for the reminder, Detective, I wasn't expecting this.”_ There was a momentary sound of mouseclicks. “ _There. I've cut the video feed until…?”_

“ _It's all right, Harold. She'll warn me if you need to turn it on again.”_

“ _I'll ask Ms Zhirova to continue keeping watch on the hall just in case.”_

 

“Huh, that's funny,” said Peter's voice.

“What?”

“For the last week, I kept feeling like somebody was watching me. Now it's not so bad.”

“Maybe I should kiss you some more.”

“OK. Watch your side, OK?”

“I'm fine. Just… fine…”

 

“ _Kid’s perceptive, Finch. Once knew a guy in the Rangers who had eyes in the back of his head like that; maybe that’s why he keeps losing us.”_

Finch tried to focus on Reese’s voice over the sound of the soft, indistinct noises—interspersed with occasional yelps and apologies—from his speakers. He hit the limit of his endurance at a hoarse _'Oh, God!'_ that didn't leave a lot to the imagination and cut the connection to Flash’s cell as if it was about to catch on fire.

“I suppose anything’s possible. Ms Zhirova?”

“ _Yes?”_ The camera they had placed on Saturday showed her stationed at the end of the line of lockers across the hall from the restroom.

“Make sure nobody goes into that room until further notice.”

She looked at the door intently. “ _OK. What's going on in there?”_

“Er… I really can't say. Ms Groves will let us know if we need to intervene.”

It was nearly half an hour before Root declared, “She says we can get audio back again.”

 

“…do now?” asked Peter. He sounded sleepy.

“Stacy asked me to take care of you. Before she left.”

“I _really_ doubt this is what she had in mind,” Peter said dryly.

“No...” Flash's laugh was barely audible, “Me either. I don't know how this happened, but I'm not giving it up.”

“I… OK, yeah, but we can't tell anybody, OK?”

“Still worried about Stacy?” He sounded a little hurt.

“No! I'm worried about someone going through you to get to me.”

“Oh, come on! Connors is locked up. Who's left to come after you?”

 

Reese growled. “That's what we _all_ want to know.”

“Jeez! these _kids_!” added Fusco.

“ _Fortunately Peter has an inkling of the danger, so that's something, I suppose. Do you have our friends in the Tahoe down the street in sight, Mr Reese?”_

Reese nodded. “I think I’m going to have to take a little walk at some point,” he said as he twirled his butterfly knife between his fingers.

 

“ _Ms Zhirova?”_

She skulked in her corner. “Here. What's going on?”

“ _Peter's the target. He has information somebody wants badly. They must not get it.”_

“What do you need me to do?”

“ _He and Flash should be coming out of the bathroom soon. Watch Peter's back and don't be seen. Notify us if any suspicious person approaches him.”_

“Will do.”

 

“No, Flash, no, listen. You used to be about the scariest thing in my life. Then my uncle died right in front of me… _Then_ my father's friend turned into a freaky monster, beat me up, and tried to strangle me. In the _sewer_. He almost hurt Gwen too, and I don't care what you say; it would have been my fault. Now I have a bunch of new and exciting nightmares. I can't stand any more. If you can't keep us a secret, this is it.”

“You worry too much, Parker. Nothing's going to happen to me.”

“Idiot! Hodge stabbed you just yesterday, and he didn't even start out to hurt _you_. This formula? I think my parents died because of it.”

“OK, fine. I'll try.”

 

“I like this Parker kid,” said Fusco. “He's OK.”

“ _Mr. Parker's_ _courage and sense of responsibility are admirable,”_ Finch sighed. “ _But his judgment worries me.”_

“Is it his choice of lovers or his choice of lab partners?” asked Reese.

“ _Both,”_ said Finch.

“Flash's looking better than he used to,” said Fusco.

“ _Until the next time he loses his temper. His parents are terrible role models. I wonder if he has even a dim idea of what a healthy relationship looks like. His issues are not going to be solved by a—a high school fling. The boy needs professional help.”_

“ _We're professionals!”_ Root said brightly. “ _And I think getting rid of Officer Thompson would be very helpful. Oh, don't look at me like that, Harold. I saw the report your experts in D.C. sent you, but I'm not suggesting we kill him. Necessarily.”_

“Let’s just try getting his old man off the sauce first,” added Fusco, “or at least out of town.”

“ _He_ _needs psychological counseling regardless of whatever else happens,”_ Finch said.

“We better teach him to fight more effectively, too,” said Reese. “If he's going to be around Peter, he's going to have to sooner or later.”

“ _Counseling first and then—I don't like this, but I agree that it's necessary—fighting.”_

Reese nodded. “And Peter.”

“ _Yes, and we will have to monitor them long term. This discovery is too dangerous not to.”_

Shaw's voice broke in over the speaker. “ _Bad news, people. May Parker never showed up at work.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other fic that gave me the idea for The New Class is this one. It's titled Targets And Taking by Salmon_Pink. If PWP and rare pairing are your thing, you may enjoy it.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1181292


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The current number is not as cooperative as he looks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Rahlian for the beta and the suggestions. I hope my revision has made the action a lot clearer than it would have been.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

22 May (Wednesday) 10:20  
Streetcam:E 54th St 2nd Avenue, Midtown, Manhattan, New York City  
Black-and-red Triumph Street Triple 1050 license 51RV92  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen

“ _I found May Parker's cell,”_ said Finch “ _It's about a block south of you.”_

 

“There's nothing here.” Shaw looked down. “Except the storm drain. Great. Anything at their house?”

“ _Nothing, except… Something has been stuck on their door.”_ He tapped at his keyboard to call up the surveillance videos of Ingram street. “ _It looks like someone in a gas company uniform left it. He visited all the doors in the neighborhood…”_

“Legit?” asked Shaw.

“ _Yes, he was there on a scheduled meter reading.”_

She mounted her cycle. “We got no other leads; checking it out anyway.”

“ _Yes, do that. He may have been an imposter or suborned. Please hurry. Mr Parker shouldn't be heading home until after four, but he may go earlier,”_ said Finch.

“ _I can get you to the Parker's in twenty,”_ said Root. “ _Take the next left. I'll clear the road for you.”_

“Copy that.”

 

The note tacked to the Parker's door had been torn from a small spiral-bound notebook. ‘Parker - turn your phone on’ was written on it in a large and sprawling hand. Shaw sent a picture of it to Root for analysis before striding back to her bike.

 

22 May (Wednesday) 10:46  
CCTV 3 MHS: Midtown High School, Queens.  
Gray Toyota Camry license NQL-3691  
Asset: Reese, John  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel

“Crud!” snarled Fusco. “They couldn't get him, so they got her instead.”

“ _There is one bright spot, Detective. Mr Parker's constantly having his phone off finally works in our favor. They're not going to be able to notify him of their demands until he turns it on and they're not expecting him to do_ that _until he sees their note. They probably plan to be watching him when he does. This will buy us some time to intercept him and prevent his capture.”_

“Oh, yeah? They're gonna watch for him from the moment he sets foot off campus—until he pulls _another_ disappearing act. In which case we're screwed too.” Fusco considered this a moment. “What if Mr Sunshine and me go in and pull him out of class for more questioning? Get him in custody before they have a chance to move?”

“ _It’s worth considering… But I’m afraid that at best it would only delay the inevitable and at worst tip our hand. As long as they have her, they have a way to bring Mr Parker to heel, and I have very little confidence in being able to hold him against his will. Even if we manage it, the kidnappers may just decide to cut their losses along with May Parker’s throat when they realize her nephew is beyond their reach.”_

“ _That may be the better outcome, Harold.”_

“ _No! I refuse to accept_ —”

“ _Harry! That boy has the secret to unmaking humanity right down to our genetic code. In. His. Head. Think about it. We_ can’t _let them have him.”_

“ _Believe me, Ms Groves, I’ve thought of nothing else since he declared his part in Dr Connors’ transformation. But we can’t let his last living relative_ — _an innocent woman_ — _be killed if we can prevent it.”_ He paused. “ _What does the Machine tell you?”_

_“That’s not fair, Harold. You know what She’ll say.”_

“ _Ask it.”_

There was a moment of silence on the coms. “ _She says to save them both. She says… She says, ‘Peter Parker is_ necessary _. May Parker is also therefore necessary.’ Huh.”_

“Your invisible friend says that? Fine with me,” Fusco declared. “We gotta work the problem, people. We got a hostage situation here, right? We got to make the perps think they’re getting what they want right up to the second we yank it away from from them. The first thing we gotta do is get to the kid without them catching on, and we may only get one shot. Can you get Agent Junior to pass him a note or something and set up a meet after school?”

“ _Yes… I think that’s the best way to proceed. I’ll patch her in and explain the situation.”_

“I can improve our chances for some alone time with him.” Reese unlatched his door.

“ _You must be subtle, Mr Reese. May Parker's life depends on it.”_

“You kidding with that? He's got subtle coming out his ass.”

Reese winced. “Thanks for that, Lionel.”

“Don't mention it.”

Reese returned soon after.

“What'd ya do?” asked Fusco.

“Flattened a tire. You know: subtle.”

“Good. Next step, we gotta find where they’re keeping her. Glasses, you can trace them when they call the kid?”

“ _I’m certain they’ll take precautions against that, but if they call often enough or long enough I’ll find them eventually.”_

“OK, good.”

Reese nodded. “They may have her in a separate location from where they’re calling, or they may move her around. Root, we’re going to need you out in the field to cover more territory.”

Root's voice came on over the com. “ _I'm on my way as soon as I’m kitted out.”_

“I'm going to need something faster than a bicycle,” Reese added.

“ _She says: two blocks south, half a block east on your right. Look behind the bird house. You’ll see some kind of transportation for you nearby.”_

Fusco sighed. “There's never a dull moment with you people.”

“ _With all the cameras in this neighborhood,”_ Root continued, “ _She'll have no trouble spotting either of those two from Friday if they show their faces.”_

“ _Big if,”_ muttered Shaw.

Reese's lips compressed. “Let's look sharp. Root, Finch, any car that looks like it _might_ be following him gets delayed, rerouted. Or stopped. He shouldn’t leave before his last class, but there’s no guarantee. Gen patched in yet?”

“ _Hey,”_ Gen’s voice came on the com.

“Hey Kiddo. How’s it going?” asked Fusco.

“ _OK,”_ said Gen. “ _Chem class starts in three. Parker and Missy already went in. Can’t talk once I’m seated.”_

“Hang in there and let us know whenever you lose sight of him. We’re gonna need you stick a note in his locker telling him to go to 68th and Groton after school. OK?”

“ _68 th and Groton. Will do.”_

 

22 May (Wednesday) 16:13  
CCTV MHS 1& 2  
Asset-trainee Zhirova, Genrika  
Subject: Parker, Peter  
Subject: Thomson, Eugene “Flash”

Gen lurked behind the largest tree near the front gate as she watched. “He’s on his way, everybody. With Flash. Is that a problem?”

“ _Not for the time being. If anything it makes it easier to keep track of him. We’ll listen to see whether they’re going to the rendezvous together.”_

“ _If_ he does. He read the note, but I can’t make him do anything.” She considered the boys walking away from the Midtown High campus. “What’s going on with those two. They’ve been all googly-eyed since this morning.”

“ _That is none of our concern, Ms Zhirova.”_

“They… In a _bathroom_! Oh, gross.”

_"Genrika…”_

“Fine.”

 

“You wanna come over for dinner sometime?” Peter asked when they reached Flash’s street.

“Yeah, but I promised Mom I'd be home tonight. She's still upset about what happened with Hodge. Anyway, your aunt will be there at your place.”

“I didn’t mean tonight. There’s a thing I gotta do.” He waved his hand vaguely toward the direction he was going. “I maybe need to soften her up a bit, but maybe not. She’s feeling a lot better about you since yesterday.” Peter grinned and bumped his shoulder against Flash's. “She's a really good cook…”

“Yeah, I'd like that. Wait. How does that work with keeping us a secret?”

“Um… I'll figure something out.”

“You and your big brain.” Flash grinned. “Seeya.”

Peter nodded. “Yup. Me and my big brain. Bye.” He tossed his skateboard down and headed for the address on the note he found in his locker after lunch.

 

22 May (Wednesday) 16:20  
Street cam: 68th & Groton, Forest Hills, Queens, New York City  
Subject: Parker, Peter

Peter had just arrived when a motorcyclist in black leathers cut onto the sidewalk in front of him. “Hey! I'm skating here!”

The biker lifted her visor and said, “Turn on your cell, Parker; somebody's trying to call you. Do _not_ talk to me until I say so.”

“OK…” He looked at her sidelong and reached into his pocket. It rang almost the moment he turned it on. “Hello?”

“ _Is this Peter?”_ said a distorted male voice.

“Uh, yeah?”

“ _We're sending you a picture.”_

His phone buzzed, and he opened the message. “Aunt May!” He glared at Shaw. “What do you want!”

“ _Follow our instructions if you want to see her again. Don't turn this phone off, or I will_ hurt _her. No cops, no Feds, or she's dead. Tell_ anyone _and she's dead. Deviate from our instructions and she's dead. Trust us, we'll know if you do. Go to Kew Gardens Road and 80_ _th_ _and take the first bus to_ Kennedy Airport _. We will be tracing you.”_ The call ended.

“Again,” He muttered. He gripped his skateboard and shook his head. “It's happening _again_. _Why_ is it happening again?” He inhaled in a rush, looked up and glared at Shaw. “You better not hurt her,” he snarled.

She held one finger to her lips for silence and the other to her ear, and then nodded. “Copy that.” She looked over Peter's shoulder at man getting out of the car that had just pulled up behind him. “Fusco. You're late.”

“Hello to you too, Maybelline. Hey, kid.”

“Shit!” Peter's dismay echoed in his voice. “You're a _cop_? You can't be here! They said not to call the cops!”

“Well, it's a good thing ya didn’t call us, then.”

Shaw's eyes slitted as she looked at Peter. “Our tech support can only block their audio tap on your phone for a few minutes before they suspect something. We gotta move fast. What's the word, Finch?”

“ _They hung up before I could complete the trace. They’re using VoIP over at least one darknet, but it looks as though they_ might _be in Manhattan—”_

“ _Manhattan_?” Peter yelped. “They told me to go to JFK!”

Shaw’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “That’s some good hearing you’ve got.”

“To he—heck with my hearing! Why send me south if they’re in Manhattan?”

“They're running you around,” Shaw said. “Wasting your time. Tiring you out. Making you easier to handle when they finally bring you in.” She looked at Fusco again. “And making sure you're not followed. See anything off?”

Fusco shook his head. “Nope.” He touched his earbud. “You guys see anyone follow the kid?”

“ _No, just a couple jerks moaning about a flat tire.”_ Gen snickered. “ _I sent their pics to Finch.”_

“ _Nothing’s moving on Ingram Street,”_ said Reese.  


“ _I spotted that black guy that shot at Reese Friday. He’s in a dark blue Toyota RAV4 on 71st heading toward Ingram,”_ said Root. “ _I’m going to have to intervene if you people don’t hurry up.”_

Fusco gestured to the back seat. “Get in the car, kid.”

“No! I can't. He said they'll know if I don't do what they say.” Peter stepped away. “They want me to get on the bus.”

Fusco looked at Shaw.

“Do you want to bet they're not tracking his GPS, now that his phone's on? I'll take that money right now. And those guys in the Tahoe will be on his ass soon too.”

Fusco's lip twitched. “They need to fix their flat first.”

“Please,” she sneered. “They'll just steal another car.”

Gen's voice came over both their earbuds. “ _They're stealing one now: a red Suburban.”_

“ _The Toyota’s passed Harrow,”_ added Root. “ _Signaling a right on Ingram.”_

Shaw pursed her lips in disgust. “Aaand guess what.”

“ _Whatever you do, do it_ quickly _!”_ urged Finch.

“We play along,” said Shaw. “Wait 'til they show themselves.”

“We can't risk a kid! Look, you take his phone. I'll get him under cover.”

“No!” Peter stepped farther away, ready to flee. “Look, thanks, but I can't lose Aunt May too. If they see it's not me with my phone, she's… They might kill her.”

Shaw nodded. “He's right, Lionel.”

“Well, anybody got any other suggestions? I'm fresh out.”

“Here.” Shaw pulled out a small flip phone, turned it on and handed Peter. “Tuck this in a sock. Push both your socks down so the wrinkles hide it.” She waited for him to do so and then gave him an earbud. “Stick this in your ear. Cover your ears with your cap. Good. Don't talk to us after you go; they'll be listening through your phone again soon. Go where they tell you. Do what they tell you. Every time they call you, we narrow down the search.” She reached in her coat pocket and took out a wad of bills. “Take this too, just in case. Now move.”

Peter skated off down Groton Street. She and Fusco backed her motorcycle behind a hedge just before the Toyota RAV4, turned onto 68th a couple blocks down.

“ _Hello Mr Parker.”_ Finch said in Peter’s earbud.

“Hi, are you Finch?”

“ _Yes. I need you to watch out for a red Suburban license PLO-7682 and the dark blue Toyota RAV4 license HQT-2251. It should be coming up behind you as soon as you get off this one-way street.”_

“Who are you people? You don’t act like cops.”

“ _Who we are is not important. What’s important is that we are trying to help you get your aunt back safely.”_

“ _Hey kid, can you hear me?”_

“Detective Fusco?”

“ _That’s right. OK, kid, like Mr Good News said: look out for those cars. We don't know how many of them there are or what else they got on the road, so try to not let anybody drive up close to you. Stay out of their reach as much as you can. Got it?"_

“Yeah, I got it.”

“ _If they get you, do as you're told and keep your head down. Don't piss them off. You're already doing the stupid thing, so don't make it worse.”_

“OK.”

“ _Mr. Parker, from now on, don’t speak to us. I’ve reached the limit of the time I can block their tap without arousing suspicion. Fortunately, they will not be able to hear what we say to you. Clear your throat if you understand me.”_

Peter cleared his throat.

 

22 May (Wednesday) 16:43  
Streetcam: Kew Gardens Road & 80 RD, Kew Gardens, Queens, New York City  
Black-and-red Triumph Street Triple 1050 license 51RV92  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen

Shaw had gone directly to the bus stop and stationed herself across the street from it in a narrow strip of parking lot next to a red brick building. She watched as Peter arrived and shortly after boarded the Q10 bus. “There's the blue Toyota a block back and the red Suburban's a block ahead. Nothing else so far.”

“ _I'm a block west,” said Root. “You go ahead, and I'll go parallel to the bus from here.”_

Without a word, Shaw revved her motorcycle and pulled out in a left turn. She saw Parker looking down at her from the bus window before she sped ahead. The bus followed more slowly.

 

22 May (Wednesday) 17:12  
Streetcam: Lefferts Blvd & Linden Blvd, South Ozone Park, Queens, New York City  
Black-and-red Triumph Street Triple 1050 license 51RV92  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen

“ _Ms Shaw, Ms Groves: the kidnapper has told Peter to get off at the next stop. Do you see our suspects?_ ”

“I'm on Red.”

“ _Am I blue? Am I blue?”_ Root warbled.

“Stop.”

 

“ _Walk east—and I mean walk. No skateboard.”_

“OK.” Peter crossed the street when the traffic cleared and walked east. He had only gone one block when he was told to turn left and start walking north.

 

22 May (Wednesday) 17:10  
Streetcam: 120th St & 114 Ave, South Ozone Park, Queens, New York City  
Black-and-red Triumph Street Triple 1050 license 51RV92  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen  
Subject: Parker, Peter  
Blue Toyota RAV4 license HQT-2251  
Suspects: 3, identity not determined

The Blue Toyota paced him the whole way. Peter stayed well away from the curb and walked with his shoulders slumped and his head down, doing his best to ignore it.

“Wouldn't this just go faster if you guys sent a car for me and picked me up?” he asked in the middle of one of the long blocks. “Or spotted me taxi fare?”

“ _Are you talking to me or them?” asked Finch. ”Don't answer that.”_

“99 bottles of beer on the wall,” Peter began to chant as he plodded along, “99 bottles of beer! Take one down and pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall. 98 bottles of beer on the wall...”

 

“ _I like this kid,”_ said Root.

“You would.”

 

22 May (Wednesday) 17:38  
Streetcam: 120th St & Liberty Ave, South Ozone Park, Queens, New York City  
Subject: Parker, Peter

Peter had reached bottle number 66 when his phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“ _Turn left here, and keep walking. And also?”_

“Yes?”

“ _Stop singing.”_

“ _Yes,”_ added Finch, “ _Please stop. You've more than adequately proven he's listening to you, and you can't afford to annoy him.”_

“Sorry. I sing when I'm nervous. How far do I go?”

“ _You're there already. See the bus stop?”_

“Yes...”

“ _Get on the Q10 going back to Kew.”_

“Wait,” Peter scrubbed at his forehead. “You made me get off the bus, walk six blocks and get on the same bus going the _other way_?”

“ _Yes.”_ Even through the distortion, the amusement in the man's voice was clear. “ _Is there a problem?”_

“No,” he said through gritted teeth, “none whatsoever.”

 

22 May (Wednesday) 18:05  
QCSC: 54 Jamaica Av.  
Gray Toyota Camry license NQL-3691  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika

“Here's your pizza,” she grinned, “combo no oysters, just like you requested.”

“Thanks, kiddo. I think that was maybe the most horrifying thing I heard all week.” He picked up a quarter-slice, took a bite and munched it. “Hm. 'S not bad. What kind you got?”

“Anchovy.”

He choked.

“I like anchovies.”

“You're a weird kid.” He sat up. “Here he comes. He's going to the bus stop by the McDonald's. You see Red or Blue?”

“Nope.”

“Anybody got eyes on our boys?”

“ _Are you eating, Lionel?”_ asked Shaw.

“Maybe.”

 

22 May (Wednesday) 18:16  
MTA cam Q25#3  
Subject Parker, Peter

“I'm kind of starving here. Can I get a burger or something?”

“ _No food. The Q25 is coming. Get on it.”_

“I get hypoglycemia…”

“ _No food. Not a chicken nugget, not a hot dog, not so much as a stick of gum. Now get on the bus.”_

“Fine.”

 

“What an asshole.” Gen's whole posture was stiff with indignation. “They won't let him sing, they won't let him skate, and now not even gum? Why are they so mean?”

“It's a power trip, Junior.” Fusco shook his head. “Kidnappers are just not nice people.”

“ _They want to gauge his level of compliance. I expect that any attempt at rebellion on Mr Parker’s part would be immediately punished. Our kidnapper seems like the sort to enjoy emphasizing his control of the situation,”_ Finch observed.

“Yeah, like I said, right?”

“ _Yes, Detective, basically.”_

“Hey, where's Tall, Dark and Deranged? I ain't seen him participating in this rodeo for a while.”

“ _I've sent him to Manhattan to look for the 'perp' on the other end of Mr Parker's phone calls.”_

“Any luck there?”

“ _So far I've been able to narrow down the location to a few addresses in Washington Heights._ _I've told Mr. Parker we don't have a lock yet. He understands that he needs to avoid capture at least until we do.”_

 

22 May (Wednesday) 18:49  
sec cam 솔마을 목욕탕 A & C  
Black-and-red Triumph Street Triple 1050 license 51RV92  
Asset: Shaw, Sameen

Shaw lurked around the corner from the bus stop Peter was due to arrive at. “If I were going to grab him, this'd be the place. There's nothing and nobody here.”

“ _Where's the Suburban, Ms Shaw?_

“I left them parked a lot over on Farrington. You see them, Finch?”

“ _Yes. They look like they're waiting for something.”_

“ _Blue is heading your way, Honeybee. You want me to do something about them, or do you want all the fun?”_

“Got it covered. You can block Red.”

“ _OK. It's about time to trade off anyway. Harold, do you see that BMW coming down Farrington?”_

“ _Yes.”_

“ _Hack it and put on its brakes… now.”_

Peter stepped out, and the bus drove off. Shaw cut in front of the Toyota just as they moved toward Peter and began the drama.

 

Peter was watching the quarrel developing just down the street when his phone rang.

“ _You know how to get to Queen's Boulevard and 87 th Avenue from here?”_ The kidnapper sounded annoyed in spite of the distortion.

Peter glared at his phone, but only bit out, “Yes,” in response.

“ _Think you can skate there in under an hour?”_

“Yes.”

“ _Get on your board and do it.”_

“Fine. Any particular route?”

“ _Whichever way is least likely to get you run over. Surprise me.”_

 

22 May (Wednesday) 19:10  
MTA cam Q60#11  
Gray Toyota Camry license NQL-3691  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika

Gen looked around. “It's not exactly lively, but I don't think they'll try to grab him here. Too many people and security cams.”

_"They're not going to get the chance for at least half an hour. Not only have Ms Shaw and Ms Groves have been very effective at hampering their movements, Mr Parker is going to arrive much earlier than they could have expected."_

“Really? That's quick."

 _"_ _He's amazingly proficient._ _I'm no judge of these things, of course, but I think he could skate professionally. Surprising for someone who does so poorly in gym class."_

"Well," said Fusco, "sunset's in about an hour. They'll probably try again after that if they don't get a chance to sooner. You're right. Here he comes.”

 

“ _Hey kid, how you doing? I'm in the gray Camry down the street. See me?”_

“OK.” said Peter, breathing only a little hard. “Here I am. I just skated over four miles in about twenty minutes. Not bad if I do say so myself.”

“ _That's right. Don't let the bastards get you down.”_

Peter waggled his fingers briefly toward the Camry as his hand went to rub the back of his neck. He was still grinning at Detective Fusco's encouragement when his cell rang. “ _Yes, you're in very fit. Good for you,”_ said the distorted voice _. “You can have a nice rest now. Get on the Q60 northbound, and be ready to get off when I tell you.”_

"Huh. Looks like they might have given up on getting him in Queens."

_"It looks that way. Detective, can you and Ms Zhirova make a detour?"_

 

22 May (Wednesday) 19:45  
CCTV 新香港男女理髮廳 A  
Admin  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Fusco, Lionel  
Asset-assist: Bear  
Asset-trainee: Zhirova, Genrika

“Please take him for a run if you get a chance. He’s been cooped up down there all day.” Finch handed her the lead. “Oh, and here are some plastic bags and tissues, and here are his treats. And here’s his ball just in case you get a chance to use it. Now you be a good boy!”

“Don’t worry Mr Finch. Bear will have a great time. Bear! _Volg!_ ” She trotted off to the car with Bear grinning and wagging his tail at her heel.

“Yeah,” said Fusco. “Maybe he’ll get to bite that dickhead on Parker’s phone. I wouldn’ mind taking a chunk out of his leg myself.”

“As would we all, Detective. Well, no rest for the weary.” Finch turned to walk back to the subway entrance.

 

22 May (Wednesday) 20:10  
sec. cam: 60 St 238E CdlPA  
Subject: Parker, Peter

As the last rays of the setting sun lit the sky, the sound of irate car horns drifted up behind him. When he looked back, he could see that the traffic at the intersection was gridlocked, and the red Suburban was caught in the thick of it. It looked like the traffic light was stuck on red in all directions.

“ _Aw, getting tired?”_ the kidnapper's voice was syrupy-sweet, but there was a distinct edge of irritation underneath.

Peter set his jaw. “I can do this all night.”

“ _Walk to 3 rd Avenue and catch the northbound M101.” _

“ _Mr Parker, I think we have finally located him at a street address in Washington Heights. If I'm right you should be there in less than an hour. I'm sending my associates on ahead. But you should be aware that the kidnapper is probably just a hireling, and your aunt may not be at his location.”_

“Right,” said Peter. “Got it.”

 

22 May (Wednesday) 20:59  
MTA cam M101#68  
Black-and-silver Ducati Diavel AMG Special Edition license 91RG98  
Asset: Reese, John  
Subject: Parker, Peter

“ _Walk up Amsterdam until you hit One Seven Two. Then turn left. Keep going until I tell you to stop.”_

“OK.” He looked over at a man idling on a motorcycle across the street, and did a double-take when he saw it was Detective Riley. The detective nodded, closed his visor and zoomed off around a corner.

 

22 May (Wednesday) 21:22  
CCTV: 705 W 172nd St 6F  
Subject: Parker, Peter  
Subject: DiAngelo, Mark

Peter had finally fetched up in front of a brown six-story pre-war apartment building and was told to go in the front door and take the elevator to the top floor. The hallway was poorly lit by one old-fashioned incandescent light fixture in the ceiling. The rest were either burnt out or turned off. Peter stepped through the doors into the dim hallway.

“Well, here you finally are." It was the voice, undistorted, from the call that had sent him on his journey. It belonged to a casually-dressed burly man in his mid-forties. The harsh light from the elevator showed he was large and fit with a receding hairline and thinning mousy hair. His face was weathered with a thin nose, pinched, downturned lips and bags under his eyes. Then the elevator doors closed and the display showed it going back down.

“ _You're_ the one who had me running all over town for the last five hours.” said Peter.

The man gave a humorless smile. “We had to make sure you weren't being followed. You know how it is.”

“I've never had my aunt kidnapped before, so not really.”

“Kid, do you really want to start a pissing contest now? You have more to lose than I do.”

Peter swallowed and lowered his eyes. “Sorry.”

“ _Please don't antagonize him,”_ whispered Finch in his ear. “ _We don't know where your aunt is yet.”_

“That's better.” He looked over Peter's shoulder as the elevator ‘dinged’ again. The door behind him opened and three more men stepped out into the suddenly lit hall. “Lee, Garvey. Brenner. You three were supposed to throw a bag over him before he skated up here. What gives?”

The Asian man who was first through the door said, “We hit every single goddamn red light, construction zone and traffic accident on the way. If I didn't know any better, I'd say somebody had it in for us.”

“Yeah.” said the African American man, the second ‘burglar’ Detective Riley had shown him Saturday.  ‘Suspect 3’ followed him. “We had to ditch the Chevy eight blocks back. Fender-bender.”

“This kid better be worth it,” added the third of their party, the thin blond man in Detective Riley’s sketch labelled ‘Suspect 2’.

Peter looked around at them. His eyes opened wide and then narrowed in recognition when he saw the second and third men. He opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it.

“Good boy,” said the leader. “You learn fast, don't you. Now don't worry. Once you give us what we want, we'll let your aunt go.”

“Whatever it it, just tell me and it's yours.”

“Simple: we want everything you gave Connors. We want your father’s notes.”

“Oh.” Peter looked at his feet. “I think they’re at Oscorp...”

“You saw them, right? You studied them.”

Peter hunched his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. “A bit.”

“Then you’re going to be with us for as long as it takes to reconstruct them. Lee. Garvey. Hold him still,” he said to the Asian and the black man, and took a hypodermic syringe out of a belt pouch.

Peter stiffened in the hold of the two men. “Wait! What is it?”

“It's just something to calm you down. You've had a stressful day.” He uncapped the syringe and pressed the plunger until a drop of clear liquid rolled out.

“Is it safe? I have allergies, just so you know.”

“Hold still or your aunt will regret it. Brenner—”

“No! Wait! I want to see my aunt first. I just need to look at her, OK? She doesn't even need to know I'm here. Then I'll let you shoot anything you want into me. _Please!_ ”

“You been a good boy so far; sorry I can’t oblige. The only way you get to see her is if you’re under control.”

“ _Mr Parker, I’m sorry.”_ said Finch. “ _We can’t risk them keeping you. I have your GPS coordinates. Detective Fusco is behind the coffee shop on the corner, and the rest of my associates are converging on your position. I promise we will get you and your aunt out of this whatever it takes.”_

“OK.” Peter gulped. “I'm ready.”

“Good boy. Brenner, roll up his sleeve.” He swabbed Peter's arm and injected the contents of the syringe. “How do you feel? Feel good?”

“Whoa… Dizzy.”

“That's right, you just lean on that wall and put your head down. We'll take good care of you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and he's more cunning than you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Rahlian for the beta and the suggestions. ^_^

 

22 May (Wednesday) 21:31  
CCTV: 705 W172nd St 6F  
Subject: Parker, Peter  
Subject: DiAngelo, Mark  
Suspect 2: identity determined Brenner, Louis  
Suspect 3: identity determined Garvey, Thomas  
Suspect 4: identity determined Lee, Kevin

DiAngelo tossed the syringe away as Peter slumped in the hold of the two men. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy zip tie that had been wound into a circle, began to uncoil it and stepped toward Peter. “Hold his arms—”

The elevator door opened again before he could bind Peter. “Boss?” said the man who emerged. The doors closed again, and the elevator started back down.

“What's the word, Hitch?”

“The plane is—”

Peter thrust out hard with both hands while they were all distracted, bowling Garvey over on his right and pushing Lee into Brenner to his left, knocking them into an awkward sprawl. DiAngelo almost immediately dropped the zip tie and leaped to pin him to the wall. They grappled briefly, but Peter had slid down far enough that he was just able to reach his skateboard with his left hand. He somehow grasped it with just his fingertips and hurled it up into the light fixture, shattering it and throwing the hall into darkness. He squirmed his way out DiAngelo’s grip a split-second after, bucking him into the opposite wall.

Since he wasn’t in the scuffle Hitch was able to fumble out his cell phone and turn on his flashlight app, but it wasn’t bright enough to show where Peter had gone.

“God damn it!” DiAngelo snarled.

“What the hell!” Garvey looked around wildly and drew his gun.

“Where’d he go?” Lee pulled out his own phone and began to shine it in wider and wider circles around the floor.

“The stairs!” shouted Hitch as a patch of light shone briefly on the floor at the other end of the hall in front of the stairwell around the corner. The five, all pushing hands and tripping feet rushed to the door together.

“Put that away, you idiot!” DiAngelo snapped at Garvey, who sheepishly holstered his weapon.

 

Finch jolted out of his chair. “Peter! What are you doing?” he cried.

“ _I have an idea to make them show us where Aunt May is. Don't worry, they can't hear me talking to you now; I stuck_ my _phone in the head guy’s jacket when he grabbed me.”_

 

“Fuck!” Brenner slammed down both door handles and pushed, but the doors only opened a crack. “The little fucker blocked it.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t get far with that shot in him.” DiAngelo peeked through the crack between the doors. “My zip tie. That’s a pretty smart kid.” He pulled out a K-bar and thrust it between the doors in an attempt to cut the plastic band, but was only able to score it with the tip. “We’ll have to push together and break it.”

 

“They're breaking through and it's five flights down to get out. You'll never make it!”

“ _Only one flight up._

The _roof_? Peter, no!”

_“Don't worry, Finch. I know what I'm doing. Can you use my phone to listen in on them? Maybe trace their calls?”_

“I can try.”

“ _What's the name of the coffee shop?”_

“Rosa's.”

 

By the time the kidnappers got into the stairwell and realized Peter had gone up, not down, he was already at the edge and standing on the parapet. The roof of the building was only slightly better lit than the hall inside it had been after Peter broke the light fixture, but it was enough.

“Hey, guys!” Peter called to them and laughed. “Wheee, I guess that shot you gave me take is finally kicking in. Ah-ah-ah!” He wagged his forefinger at them, and his whole body swayed in time. “One step past that vent hood there, and I go over the edge. I might do it anyway, I really am kind of dizzy.”

“Garvey, go get the old lady,” said DiAngelo. “Maybe she can reason with him.”

“So she _is_ around here. No, no, stay right where you are, Garvey. Do _not_ go get her!”

 

Fusco peeked around the corner of the shop. “Aw, fuck me; I think I see him. He's standing right on the edge. It's a six-story building!”

 

 _“Peter! What are you doing!”_ Finch whispered urgently in Peter's ear. _"There is no need for this!”_

Peter yawned theatrically and covered his mouth. “Don’t worry, please! I just had to be sure she’s here,” he muttered. “I have to be sure you get her away safe.”

“What do you want, kid?” DiAngelo shouted to Peter.

“I want to see my aunt alone on that street corner down there,” he pointed, “real soon. Like, before I pass out and go over by accident. I want to see one of your guys take Aunt May over to the street light in front of that coffee shop. I want you to tell her nicely 'So sorry, it was all a misunderstanding,' and let her go.”

DiAngelo glared at him.

“You don't get paid unless you find my father's work, right?” Peter said. “Well congratulations, you found it. It's. Right. Here.” He tapped his temple in time with his last three words. “Good luck getting it after my brains are spread out all over the sidewalk. I want my aunt out on that corner. Now!”

“Come on, kid! I'm not authorized to do that.”

“Work it out,” he shouted. “Gravity accelerates at thirty-two point two feet per second per second, I'm about sixty-five feet up, and I weigh about a hundred sixty pounds. You can calculate the radius of the splatter if I hit head first, or would you rather just get a ruler and measure it after?”

“Kid…”

“In other words, get authorized! Call your your boss and ask which he wants: my aunt or me. I am not joking around here. Whoa…” he swayed again with his arms windmilling for balance.

“OK, fine! Just move away from the edge. No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! Don't do that!”

 

“Aw, Jesus,” whimpered Fusco.

“ _What's he doing?”_ Finch asked urgently. _Peter, what are you doing!”_

“Now he's got his toes on the edge and his heels out over fuck all.”

 

“Make the call!” Peter shouted.

 

 _“What do we do, Boss?”_ Finch heard one of the gang mutter as he listened through Mr Parker’s cell.

 _“We’re supposed to bring them both_ ,” added another. _"Do we get paid if there’s only one?”_

 _"Well_ ,” said the boss, _“looks like he might have to choose.”_

Finch focused on the cell tower Peter’s phone signal was going through. If he timed the trace just right...

 

“They doing it, Finch?” asked Shaw.

_“Yes. Peter, please move away from the edge.”_

_"Fusco? Gen?”_ asked Shaw.

“I'm at the corner; she's in the car with Bear.” Fusco responded. “That kid better not make me have to tell his aunt about this. She will _kill_ me.”

 

“Get Aunt May out there,” Peter shouted.

“Sir, we have a situation,” DiAngelo said before the other party could speak.

_“Peter, he’s called his employer, and I have the trace. Now please move away from the edge.”_

 

“He ain't moving, Finch,” said Fusco.

 

_“Do you have the boy?”_

“The boy has the boy; he's holding himself hostage on the edge of the roof; says he's gonna go splat if we don't let his aunt go.”

_“What! I told you to tranquilize him.”_

“We did. He got loose. Now he's on the edge of the roof _and_ about to pass out. I thought you said that stuff would drop an elephant in its tracks.”

_“Yes, if he got all of it!”_

“He did. Maybe you got the dosage wrong.”

_“Well, we can't afford to lose him. Send the woman away. You'll just have to get her back after he's unconscious.”_

“Will do,” He said into the phone, then he turned to Peter. “All right! We agree to your terms! Now get down from there!”

“When I see my aunt go around that corner, I'll get down.”

“Brenner, go get her and take her where he said. Move!”

 

“Ooooh crap!” Fusco winced away from the faint silhouette on the rooftop.

_“What's happening, Detective?”_

“Whew, that was close. He almost fell. He's sitting now.”

 

 _“Peter!”_ shouted Finch.

“Stay back!” Peter lifted his head and glared at the kidnappers, stopping them abruptly. “I _will_ go over backward if you come any closer.”

 _“Their employer has agreed to send her out,”_ said Finch, _"Just hold on.”_

 

“OK, Finch,” said Fusco as he peeked around the corner of the coffee shop on the corner, “they just came out the front door… I would not want Missus Parker pissed off at me! She's giving that dirtbag an earful by the look on his face.”

 _“The moment they're out of sight of that roof...”_ said Finch.

“…ly sorry, lady,” said a faint tenor voice from around the corner. “This was all a mistake. We thought you were—”

Fusco put his gun to the man's head a split second after he walked around the corner after May. “Freeze, asshole. Hands on your head.”

“Louis.” Shaw's upper lip twitched ironically. “I _thought_ I knew you from somewhere. Long time, no see. Nice nose job. Too bad about the ears. And the chin. And the lips. Now you look a even more like a weasel.”

“...Shaw?” His hands went slowly to the top of his head. She stood well back, her pistol trained on his chest.

“Detective Fusco! Oh, thank God!”

“Hiya, Missus Parker. On your knees, you. You know this creep?”

“I worked with this creep. I know _all_ his old friends.” Shaw grinned. “And I think maybe one or two new ones.”

“Right…” Fusco disarmed Brenner and cuffed his hands behind his back. “You need these?” he asked, and handed Shaw Brenner’s radio and cell phone at her nod. “Junior,” he said over the com link. “Come’ere a minute. I want you to take Mrs. Parker here over to the car. You and the pooch make sure nobody messes with her, got it?”

 _“Got it.”_ She and and Bear sprinted up to them. “Hi! Call me Gen. This is Bear.”

“I'm May. Excuse me, but have we met?” asked Aunt May as they walked toward Fusco's car.

“I don't think so. I think I’ve just got...” Her voice trailed off as they went to the detective’s car together.

“OK, Finch? We got them,” said Fusco.

“So who's running this operation? DiAngelo?” Shaw's grin narrowed to a smirk at his dismayed expression. “That's good to know.”

 

_“Peter! Your aunt is safe, and Brenner is in custody. Now move away from the edge._

Peter smiled and slumped forward bonelessly onto the roof.

 

“I don't see him up there,” said Fusco. “There's some other guys…”

 

“I think he's passed out, Sir,” said Garvey.

“Fucking finally. Come on, tie him up and get him downstairs.” He pressed a button on his radio. “Brenner? Brenner, pick up.”

 

“The man wants to talk to you, Louis.” Shaw smiled as she held Brenner's radio to his head. “Don't disappoint him.”

“Brenner here.”

_“Get the Parker woman back up here.”_

Brenner glared at Shaw, but she only raised her eyebrows. “Yes, Sir. Brenner out.”

“Good boy,” said a voice behind him. “Hello, Honey-bunny! Were you going to start without _me_? So rude.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Where's your bike?”

“Parked across the street. There's one on the first floor and four more with Peter on the sixth in the first room to the left of the elevator. I just need one more thing.”

“Wonder Boy not with you?” asked Fusco.

_“I've sent him after their employer,” said Finch “I was able to trace him to a building two blocks south of there.”_

_“I'm in position.”_ Reese broke in. _"Peter has priority.”_

“Copy that. Let's go,” said Shaw, and jerked her head at Root.

“Just one moment.” Root went to the dumpster by the cafe's back door and lifted the lid. “Ah,” she said and pulled out an empty pizza box.“There we are.”

“Papa John's?” Fusco's lip curled in disgust. “Seriously!?”

“It’s not like they’re going to have time to look at it.” Root, holding the empty box by one corner in her left hand, turned, pulled Shaw close with her right and kissed her casually on the lips.

Brenner’s jaw dropped.

“Hey!” snapped Fusco, “What're _you_ looking at?”

“All ready to go,” said Root as she stepped out of their embrace. “Oh! And read Louie here his rights,” she added in a saccharine tone, flicking the tip of his nose with her free index finger, “You have been very naughty, Mr. Brenner. We wouldn't want you to get off on a technicality, now would we? Not after the horrible 'accident' that happened to your dearly departed friend Tad.”

“ _This_ is the asshole that make me run all over Jersey last weekend?” Shaw’s glare at the prisoner promised unspeakable torment.

“This’s him. I have the perfect idea for working off some of that animosity: let’s go beat some deserving people up!” With that, Root grinned back over her shoulder and turned to saunter across the street.

Shaw snapped, “Watch the perimeter,” at Fusco, and stalked off the other way around the back of the diner.

“Fine,” said Fusco. They were both already around their respective corners as the next words floated after them. “Listen up, creep: You have the right…”

The apartment building was locked. Root made a great show of checking her phone in her right hand as she balanced the pizza box on her left before she knocked on the window. A large young man in a tan sport coat came to the door and opened it.

“Hi!” Root smiled brilliantly and tossed her hair back.

“Who…?” His eyes narrowed. “Building’s being fumigated. We're closed.”

“I'm _so_ sorry to bother you, but this is my first day, and I _really_ need this job. Can you tell me if I'm anywhere near the right address?” He leaned forward to see better as Root held out her phone to him.

He had just begun squinting at the screen when she seized his sleeve and yanked him farther out for Shaw to sidle in from behind and knock him out. They caught him before he hit the ground and pulled him back inside.

 

_“They’re in the building, Mr Reese.”_

“Just give the word.”

 

Root pressed the elevator call button. “'Large combo' is all of them, small combo' is three, pepperoni is two, cheese is one.”

“Two minutes,” said Shaw. She was still rolling her eyes as she reached the stairwell.

Root waited for her to get in position and then took the elevator to the sixth floor. Two of the kidnappers were jostling in front of the elevator when the doors opened.

“Hey fellas! Did anyone here call for a pepperoni pizza?”

 

_“Go! Go now!”_

Reese kicked in the door and his shotgun barked as he fired three beanbag rounds in rapid succession. “Hello th—” His eyes widened in shock.  “What the hell?” he whispered.

_“John! Are you alright?”_

“Harold, you are never going to believe who the mastermind behind all this is.”

_“Is it somebody I know?”_

“Oh, yes.”

 

Shaw leaned out of the hall to the stairwell as they watched Root, and fired a warning shot into Garvey's left leg. Hitch turned to face Shaw as she ran toward him, but Root shot him in the leg as well before he could bring his gun to bear. She kicked it away after he fell. Shaw yanked the door open to clear the way for Root to fire into the room.

By the time Shaw entered, the Asian kidnapper was on the floor groaning and clutching his bleeding calf. The other lay half-propped up on one elbow, wheezing and trying to bring his pistol to bear.

“Center mass?” Shaw sounded jealous as she stomped the last one the rest of the way down and put her boot on his wrist.

“He _is_ wearing a vest,” said Root from the open door. She had guns in both hands now. Her right hand tracked the men on the floor in the hall and her left, the men in the room. None of them moved after—without looking—she put a round in the floor inches from Garvey’s hand when he reached for Hitch’s pistol.

Root kept her guns trained on the kidnappers until Shaw was done patting them down and tying them up. Peter, his hands bound behind his back, lay snoring gently on his side in the corner.

“Fusco,” said Shaw into her comlink.

_“What’s the good word?”_

“We got ‘em. The kid looks OK. Come on up.”

“Shaw?” wheezed the man Root had shot in the vest.

“DiAngelo. Kidnapping? Really?”

“Oh, like _you_ never kidnapped anybody.”

“Funny, I don't _recall_ kidnapping any actual kids.”

“What can I say? For that price…” He grimaced and shrugged. “Your girlfriend's pretty good with those.”

Root smiled brightly from the doorway. “Why thank you! Do you want to check Peter's vitals, my daffodil?” Shaw rolled her eyes at the endearment

“Yeah. What'd you inject him with?”

DiAngelo shrugged and coughed. “Don't know. Didn't set it up.”

Shaw knelt down next to Peter. “Reese, ask their boss what they injected him with.”

 _“With pleasure.”_ A sound of a gunshot and a moment later screams and sobs echoed through her earbud. _“Alfentanil, he says.”_

One eyebrow rose in a skeptical arc. “Really.” She swiftly checked Peter's color, breathing, pulse, and pupils.

“He said it was supposed to drop him quick, but it didn't,” said DiAngelo in an aggrieved tone. “Must have got the dosage too light or something.”

“Or something.” She looked coldly at him.

 _“Should we do something about this, Ms Shaw?”_ asked Finch.

“He seems to be doing OK. We could round up some Naloxone just in case it really was Alfentanil. Which I doubt.”

“Um…” said DiAngelo. “The boss gave me another shot for if he stopped breathing.”

“Where?”

“On the table over there.”

She picked it up. “Reese, ask him what's in the syringe.”

A moment passed. “ _He_ claims _it's Naloxone.”_

“You don't believe him.”

_“Not particularly.”_

She put the syringe down. “Respiration and color look good; safer to wait until we get him to the hospital.” She cut the ties around Peter's wrists. Sirens were sounding down the street by the time Fusco reached the room.

 

 _“I feel sick,”_ Finch said in an unsteady tone.

“Harold...” Reese cuffed the other hand of the man, who was still writhing on the floor next to the very expensive ergonomic chair he had been sitting in when Reese shot him.

 _“I thought it was_ funny _! Oh, dear God… I think I may vomit.”_

“The question is, how did he get out?”

 _“No, John, it’s_ obvious _how he got out. The question is who was the person that the coroner did the autopsy on and how did he die?”_

 

22 May (Wednesday) 23:42  
CCTV 8 Presbyterian Hospital Hospital ER, Cubicle 7  
Asset-assist: Tillman, Megan  
Subject: Parker, Peter  
Subject: Parker, May Reilly  
NYPD, Detective, Homicide: Kane, William “Bill”

“...ieve me, Ma'am, if we'd have known what they were after, we'd have told you.”

Peter blinked and drew in a deep breath. “Aunt May,” he croaked.

“Oh, Peter. Thank heavens you’re awake. How do you feel?”

He sat up slowly. “Thirsty. Hungry. Kind of sick. What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, son?” said the man who had been talking to Aunt May. He was tall, with short dark hair, a long humorous face, pale skin and a distinct 5 o'clock shadow.

Peter blinked up at the stranger and frowned.

“Peter,” said Aunt May, “This is Detective Kane. He needs to ask you some questions.”

“Oh. Can I talk to Detective Riley or Fusco instead? No offense, but I kind of know them now…”

Aunt May looked apologetically at Detective Kane, but only said, “He works with them. You can trust him.”

“Sorry, son,” Detective Kane added, “I’d love to have them in to talk with you, but they’re not available.” He looked briefly disgusted and then his heavy eyebrows took on a humorous twist as he smirked. “They’re too busy giving their own statements right now.”

“Are they in trouble?”

Detective Kane snorted. “No, but plenty of other people are.”

“OK…”

“So. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

Peter looked around the Emergency Room. “No.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Peter sat up slowly and pulled his knees up under his chin. “I was going home after school...”

“Yes?”

“I turned on my phone. Someone called. He sent a picture of Aunt May.” He huddled more tightly into himself. “He said he’d kill her if I didn’t do what they said.”

“What happened next?” Detective Kane scribbled notes as he listened.

“They made me run all around Queens and then take a bus to… To Midtown. And another one to Washington Heights. They were waiting for me there.”

The Detective put his notebook down. “OK, I’m going to show you some pictures, and I want you to tell me if you’ve seen these people before. Ready?”

He looked at each picture carefully. “I don’t know this guy. Or these two.” He put their photographs off to the side. I remember him. He was the one on the phone. He’s the leader. He tells everybody what to do, but I think he works for someone else.”

“Yes? Did you hear his name?”

“No. but he called this guy Lee.” He pointed at the picture of the Asian. “And the black guy and the ferret guy are Garvey and Brenner.” He twisted the blanket in his hands. “Garvey and Brenner were in the sketches Detective Riley showed me last week.”

“Yes,” said the detective. “Detective Riley followed them when he saw them enter your house, and they shot at him before they fled.”

“Were they watching m-me then? Aunt May! Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked contrite. “I didn’t want to bother you, Sweetheart. I thought it was just a simple attempted burglary, and after everything that’s happened… I just felt it was kinder to keep it from you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” he sighed. “I’d probably do the same.” He looked over the pictures again. “Where’s the other guy?”

“Mostly in Hoboken...” Detective Kane shuffled his feet and looked cagey at Aunt May’s glare. “But that’s… that’s kind of a long story. Anyway, Riley took being used for target practice kind of personal, and Fusco’s not a guy that lets that kind of thing slide either. They were taking a closer look at the situation with some Jersey cops, and that’s what led them to these clowns and then to the kidnap plot against you and your aunt.”

“Oh.”

“So, DiAngelo here,” he pointed at the leader’s mugshot, “that’s his name, ran you around and then made you go to him. Did he say what they wanted?”

“My dad’s notes. I don’t know why.”

“OK. Did you hear any other names?”

“He called somebody ‘Hitch,’ but I didn’t see who that was. Hitch came in after he… He gave me a shot. These two held me so I couldn’t move, and ferret guy rolled my sleeve up. They stuck the needle here.” Peter rubbed his left arm.

“Let me take a look,” the doctor said. She went to the other side of Peter’s gurney and pushed his sleeve up. “Yes, there it is. The bruise is already coming out. You should get a picture or three for evidence.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that. Gimme a sec.” He pulled out his phone, took the pictures and labeled them and sent them to his account. “OK, so they drugged you. Do you remember what happened next?”

Peter concentrated a moment. “I… panicked? I remember fighting. I… I put my phone in the boss’s pocket.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t remember… I think I was angry. He used it like a leash and I was his dog. I didn’t… I dunno.”

“So you don’t mind if we keep it in evidence?”

“N-no.”

“Do you remember what happened after that?”

“I…” Peter looked at Aunt May. “I remember running.”

“Anything else?”

“No… No.”

The Detective looked up at the doctor. “Is this something we should worry about, Doc? Did he hit his head or something?”

“The initial examination and X-ray didn’t show that.” She came closer and ran her hands lightly over Peter’s head. “Still no sign of any lesions.”

“Why doesn’t he remember?”

“Well… Amnesia isn’t a _common_ reaction of the sedative they claim to have used, but it has been known to happen, especially when it’s combined with, say, one of the benzodiazepines. In addition to the acute stress he was under, it’s possible…” She shook her head. “Or maybe he ran until he passed out.”

Detective Kane looked sidelong at Aunt May like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure it would be wise.

“Can I go home now?” asked Peter plaintively. “I want to go _home_.”

“Doctor? Can we go home?”

“Soon, I think. I want to observe him a _little_ longer to make sure there are no serious after effects. When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunchtime. He wouldn’t let me eat anything.”

“Good. Getting that shot on an empty stomach means fewer complications to worry about.”

She cleared him to leave sometime after two in the morning with strict instructions to eat lightly, drink _lots_ of water and inform Aunt May at once if he felt any nausea, dizziness or shortness of breath.

Detective Kane volunteered to drive them home since he lived in Bushwick, and it was so late. He only asked that Peter inform him right away if he happened to remember anything more for the report.

 

22 May (Thursday) 03:24  
Home LAN 1  
Admin  
Asset-assist: Bear

Finch was still busy muddying the waters concerning Dr Richard Parker’s work when his phone rang. It was well after three am. “ _Um… Hello? Is this Finch?”_

“Hello, Mr Parker.” How did he get… The cell Shaw gave him. Of course.

_“Thanks for not telling Aunt May about the roof thing.”_

“So you _do_ remember.” Finch had wondered if the ‘amnesia’ was put on for the benefit of May Parker’s nerves. “I suppose I must thank you for leaving my associates and myself out of your statement.”

_“Nobody said you were cops.”_

“No, we are not, although we liaise with them on occasions when our work runs parallel with theirs.”

 _“What_ is _your work?”_

“To prevent bad things from happening. But you haven’t called at this time of night to ask me about my occupation, have you?”

_“Um… I need to know…”_

“Yes?”

_“Who was it? The guy who tried to kidnap me and Aunt May? Is he going to try to get Dad’s notes again?”_

“No.”

 _“Are you_ sure _?”_

“Quite sure. Are you at your computer?”

_“Yes.”_

“Open a browser and do a search for Virtanen Pharmaceuticals. That's spelled V I R T A N E N. The _New York Times_ should have most of the pertinent facts. I will wait until you are ready to ask more questions.”

_“OK.”_

Several minutes passed as Peter skimmed through the information.

_“Wow. Just wow. That is probably the most evil thing I have ever heard of. Bastards.”_

“Yes. Bringing them down gave me a great deal of satisfaction. Or at least it did until we found Mark Lawson at large and his flunkies holding your aunt in Washington Heights.

_“But this says he died in prison.”_

Finch’s face screwed up in anger. “Clearly he did not. I think that from the moment he was condemned, Lawson realized that death would be the only escape for him. So he set about arranging it. He certainly knew how to obtain a suitable corpse that had died of ‘natural causes’. His cellmate had all the connections he needed to arrange for the dead body to be smuggled in, and for Lawson’s live body to be smuggled out.”

_“That's who helped him escape?”_

“Yes, probably in exchange for Lawson arranging his own escape later—and for money. I thought he’d lost it all when Virtanen crashed, but I am now finding that he had millions squirreled away in accounts under the names of various friends, employees and family members, including some who passed years ago. I'm looking into it.” He stretched his arms over his head and groaned at his muscle’s protests. “It's difficult to know the exact details yet since Lawson isn't talking and the other one is deceased. Riley and Fusco have been in contact with various police departments in New Jersey concerning his case—”

_“Murder. Why am I not surprised. Did Lawson kill him too?”_

Mr Parker was very astute; that was one of the questions that Finch himself had considered. “Not likely. The killing was brutal and required something resembling a work ethic,” he said dryly. “Not Lawson’s MO at all.”

_“Oh.”_

“I'm not even certain he gave the order. Oh, well. We'll find out who did what eventually. Lawson has the moral fortitude of a jellyfish. As a recaptured escapee, he goes straight back to prison to serve out the original term with additional penalties. I'm sure he'll be persuaded to 'sell out' to lighten his load.”

_“Did… Did he say how he knew about Dad’s work?”_

“Not yet, but it's not hard to hypothesize. Your father's theories and his partnership with Curt Connors were were very well known within the pharmaceutical and biochemistry fields. Connors' mutation into the Lizard would have been a sign that his partner’s lost work had been rediscovered.”

_“Oh.”_

“That this happened after _you_ visited him would have strongly suggested that you had given him access to your father's work. After that… Well, if ever a man was ready to do any dirty deed and grasp at any straw for gain, Mark Lawson is certainly that man.”

_“What did he think he was going to do?”_

“Given that they had a flight chartered for the Cayman Islands at Teterboro… My best guess is they were planning to take your and your aunt somewhere they could extract the information at their leisure and test whether you were telling the truth at each step.”

_“Oh… God. Am I going to have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?”_

“Perhaps not. I have spent the last several hours planting hints that lost files belonging to your father were recently rediscovered in some old Oscorp computers that had been improperly disposed of, and that those were what lead to the emergence of the Lizard.”

Peter blew out a long sigh. _“Thank you. Just… Thank you for everything.”_

“You are quite welcome.” Finch scrubbed his hands over his face. “We'll have a better idea whether the rumors take hold after a few days. If things go as well as I hope, you'll be a much less attractive target, but even then we still can’t be sure… Well, that’s a problem we will have to confront before long.”

_“OK.”_

“Now, Mr Parker, there is something I would like you to do for me.”

_“Yes?”_

“Go to bed. It's after three in the morning, and I'm exhausted.”

_“Oh. Um. Good night, Finch.”_

“Good night, Peter.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Rahlian for the beta and advice.

Thursday May 23  
Update Status:  
Sunny ☺ History ☹ Trig *☣@%&☠!!! Other stuff ;p  
E. Thornhill has Friend Requested you. You have 22 Mutual Friends. 

Flash shrugged and hit 'Confirm'. It was going to be a good day. Sure, his side ached like a sonofabitch. He wasn't going to be allowed to join practice until the nurse cleared him, which meant that he was not going to be at his best for the game at Richmond and neither was the team. 

“Thanks a lot Hodge, you stupid douche.” 

In the scheme of things though, things were looking up. His dad had been sent off on some surprise special assignment that would keep him away until after the weekend, and he'd see Parker at his locker before class started. Maybe they could— 

“Eugene.” 

Flash whipped around and saw that cute blonde who helped out with the Hodge situation.  Sparrow... That was her name. She was standing in the middle of the sidewalk at the corner. He gritted his teeth, biting back his reflexive surge of anger. “Please don't call me that.” 

She looked at him levelly and drawled, “Euge-e-e-ne.” 

His hands clenched and he scowled. “Look, I'm asking you nice: please don't call me that. I don't know what Kallenback told you, but my name is Flash.” 

“Eugene Thompson,” she said, this time with flat enunciation. Her expression as she regarded him was flat, assessing. Ready for anything. 

He took a deep breath, released it and deliberately unclenched his fists. “OK, fine. Can I do something for you?” 

“We only need to speak with you, Mr. Thompson. For now.” said a quiet voice behind him. Flash whirled to see who it was. The voice belonged to a thin man of medium height wearing a rich brown three-piece suit with a pale pink shirt and a maroon tie. The pained set of his lips when taken with his glasses, nose and tufty hair made him look altogether like some kind of well-dressed owl. Flash thought he'd seen him before, but he couldn't place him. 

“ _What_ do you _want?_ ”

“We need to discuss a friend of yours.” 

“Look, I don't know what you think—” 

“Walk with us, if you will.” He turned away and limped back the way Flash had just come. Sparrow strode up to Flash. 

“Well?” was all she said as she passed him. 

She was prowling beside the man in the suit seconds later. Flash hesitated and then followed them into the park. When they got to the line of benches under the elm trees, the brown man sat stiffly on the first one while Sparrow stood a few feet away. 

“Ms—” The man coughed. “ _Gen_ , Mr Thompson and I need to have a private conversation. Why don’t you go join our friends over there.” He waved toward a man throwing a tennis ball for a dog near the badminton court. 

“Sure. _Dad.”_ She loped off to where the man and dog were playing. Flash blinked.

“ _You’re_ Sparrow’s dad?” he looked after her again. “That’s Detective Riley.”

“Yes. Please sit down.” He motioned to the space beside him. 

Flash sat. “OK, you got me. Now what do you want?” 

“Peter Parker’s aunt was abducted yesterday as part of a plot aimed at him.” 

“What!” Flash jerked to his feet. “Where is she? Is he OK?”

“Yes, they're all right; you can ask him about it when you see him. However, you should know that if events had gone otherwise, he might have died.” 

“Died?” He frowned. “Someone wanted to kill him?” 

“No, they wanted his father's work. He threatened to throw himself off a six-story building to force them to let his aunt go.” 

“He _what_!” 

“He said it was only a ploy to distract them while we made sure she was safe, but I believe he would have threatened the same if we had _not_ been there to help. I further suspect—although I have no evidence whatsoever for this—that he might have sacrificed himself anyway to keep the formula out of the wrong hands. And these, most definitely, were the wrong hands. You have known him for far longer than I. What do you think he would have done?”

“Oh, God.” 

“Sit down, Mr. Thompson. You look a little green.” 

Flash sat again. “So you’re with Riley and… and Fusco?” 

“How...? Oh, the assault. I'd forgotten about that, and that was just two days ago.” The man pushed his glasses up to rub his temples and eyes. “Excuse me. This situation was not resolved until very late last night, and I'm not as young as I used to be. Well. We think Mr. Parker is safe for the time being. However, you need to understand how immensely dangerous his secret is if you are going to pursue a relationship with him.” 

“How did you know we… And how do you know he told me _anything_?” 

The man squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don't take up poker Mr Thompson; you will be terrible at it. And just FYI: you boys are not as sneaky as you think.” 

Flash’s eyes narrowed. “Sparrow. She’s watching us, isn’t she? She— _that’s_ how she figured out what Hodge was up to so fast. You put her here to spy on Parker. I bet you’re not even really her dad.”

The man nodded. “Ms— _Gen_ is one of my associates. We had a tip there was going to be some kind of trouble involving Mr Parker and put her here to monitor the situation.”

“Fine. OK, look, Don't tell Pete you know about us; he'll freak. I can handle this. And if I can't I… I'll go to my Dad if I have to. He's a cop.” 

“Do you think your father is likely to listen to you? Or understand how hazardous the situation is?” the man said, still not raising his voice. “Unless you tell him far too much about Richard Parker's discovery.” 

Flash twitched as if stung. “Is that what you're after? 

“I must confess that I would love to at least see his equation, if only to know how it sorts with the Gompertz–Makeham Law.” The man looked wistful. “But, no… The biosciences aren’t really my field anyway, and even though the math sounds fascinating, my arrogance has caused too much damage already.”

“Then _what_?' 

“I haven't thought of all the ramifications yet… One of the most important scientific discoveries in history, and it has at least as much potential to destroy humankind as splitting the atom ever did.” 

“Oh… What if everybody who knew about this were… gone. Did you think of that? Someone will.” 

The brown man gave him a measuring look. “It's too late. Let's suppose both Mr Parker and Dr. Connors drop dead tomorrow. There would still be no way of knowing who else has heard of it by now. I trust myself and my associates to keep quiet on this. Peter has told you, almost certainly Ms. Stacy and possibly Spider-man. I can't speak to _his_ motives, but I'm sure the four of you understand the dangers better than anyone else.”

Flash nodded. 

“However, heaven knows what documentation Connors kept or where he kept it. I'm certain that Oscorp has copies of some of his data in their files at the least. The seal is cracked.” He sighed. “This genie _will_ eventually find its way out of the bottle. Hopefully, the formula will be rediscovered without more attempts to extort it from Mr Parker, but even so we'll need his knowledge to make more antidotes.”

“Why are you even talking to me?” Flash said, with a hint of bitter laughter in his voice. 

“At this point, Mr. Thompson, 'we' includes _you_.” 

“You want me to study science like Parker and Stacy? Ain't going to happen. I'm a meathead.” 

“Well, while it's true you're not academically inclined, you have several other strengths. You're gifted athletically, you're strong and fit, you show some instinctive ability to think on your feet and more than a little shrewdness and physical courage... Many of the students here look up to you as a leader. The ones you haven't bullied yet do anyway.” The man turned toward him and leaned closer and said even more softly, “Now I’m coming to the meat of it, so listen carefully.” 

Flash leaned toward him without even thinking about it. 

“Your explosive temper is regrettable under normal circumstances. Those now longer apply. Mr Parker has confided a terrible secret to you, and we _must_ deal with you.”

“The fuck do you mean 'deal with me'?” he hissed. 

“You are well on the way to becoming just like your father,” the man’s lips thinned further. “Or worse.” 

Flash slouched back, looking at his knees, and chewing the inside of his lower lip. 

“Normally I would only nudge someone in your situation toward a better path; but as it is, humanity can not afford to wait for you to—to pull your head out of your ass!” The man was almost whispering now. 

“What do you _want_ from me?” Flash whispered back.

“I want you to get help, Mr. Thompson. I want you to overcome your past and move on.” His eyes blazed as his voice gradually grew louder. “I want you to take responsibility for your actions. I want you to _grow up_!” 

Flash sat up straight. “Oh, is _that_ all!”

“It _is_ easier said than done, I know, but I think you have already started.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yes… Why didn't you retaliate when M—Gen called you by your name? It's always set you off in the past.” 

“She did that on purpose?” 

“It was a test. We needed to know whether you are even capable of controlling yourself, and you need to know it too.” 

“I don't hit girls.” 

“No, you just act like a tough guy and intimidate them.” The man’s mouth twisted ironically. “It would have annoyed her terribly. Fortunately you decided to be polite instead, or we would be having a different conversation.” 

“Oh. So that's it? I just don't act like a jerk any more? Thanks!” 

“There's much more, but we'll start with that.” The man held out a handful of cards. “These are the names of three psychotherapists. All of them are experts at dealing with the issues you are facing. You will meet with them to see if any are acceptable to you. If none of them suits you, I will send you to others until you find one who does.” 

“I'm just supposed to trust a shrink you pick out for me.” 

“You are free to find one yourself from the Internet or a phone book or by any means you choose as long as I vet them. Will that satisfy you?” 

“No! I can't afford this, and there's no way my folks will pay for it. Shit, there's no way they'll _agree_ to it!”

“I will be paying for this, and I prefer that your parents not participate in our interactions. They strike me as being unhelpful. At best.” 

“That can’t be legal.” 

“It wasn't legal for your father to beat you with his belt and break your ribs and your arm, but he still did it. It isn't legal for your mother to cover up for him when he beats you _now_ , but she still does that.” 

“She said… It’s my fault,” he said softly. “If I was just _better…_ ” Flash looked away. 

“Unhelpful _and_ wrongheaded.” The lines around the man’s mouth and nose deepened. “Don’t tell me you agree with that.”

“No,” Flash mumbled, and took the cards. “When do I do this?” 

The man handed him a copy of his own schedule. One of his free tracks was highlighted in green, as were two hours after school. “At these times, since you have been benched from playing until your wound heals. I have made an appointment for you with Dr. Campbell this afternoon, followed by Dr. Henson on Saturday and Dr. Whitaker on Monday. Tell them Mr. Byrd sent you. I will check back with you after each one. Good luck.” 

“Anything _else_?” 

“Your history class begins in twenty-six minutes. Don't be late. Good-bye.” He turned and called to the blonde. “Gen?” She jogged back to the bench, and he jerked his head back toward the school. 

Sparrow stared at him with a look of open disbelief. 

“You insisted on going to Midtown High, as I recall.” 

“What happened to 'maelstrom of thuggery and hormones'?” 

Byrd looked as if he had just bitten into an apple and discovered half a worm in it. “We will discuss this after school.” 

She walked out to the sidewalk and turned back to face the bench. “Move it, Flash. You better not make me late.” 

“Are you even really a student?” Flash asked as they walked back. 

“I am now, damn it,” she muttered. “Me and my big mouth.” 

“How did you get involved in all this?” 

“That is for me to know, and for you _not_ to know,” she snapped.

“Fine,” he drawled, looking out the corner of his eye at her. 

  


“Bear!” Reese threw the yellow tennis ball toward the group of pines in the center of the park. “ _Apport_!” Bear raced after it again. Finch contemplated the happy dog for a moment before rising to go join them. 

“That went well,” Reese commented as he drew near. “That kid may turn out to be a decent adult yet.” 

Finch still looked tired. “You know we're going to get Mr Parker's number again. We still don’t know who was spying on him ten years ago. It might have been Virtanen, it might have been _another_ competitor...”

“...Oscorp trying to get their lost data back... ” 

...S.H.I.E.L.D.” Finch frowned as though at an unpleasant memory, but then shook it off. “There are _so_ many possible suspects. And added to that, Mr Parker has all the sense for self-preservation of a mouse with toxoplasmosis.”

“Or Leon.” 

“Yes, but at least Mr Tau is only a danger to himself. Lets hope that Ms Zhirova accepts the need to monitor them as an argument to stay in school.” His mouth twisted wryly. “It's not like we have any better option at present.” 

“It's no more than the truth. We need to bring Flash up to speed ASAP. And Parker.” 

“I hope we don't have trouble teaching Mr Parker to defend himself. He does not seem like the type that violence will come easy to.” 

“You'll be surprised, Finch; he’s very cold-blooded under pressure. Bear! _Loslaten_!” He took the ball and wound up to throw again. “Bear! _Apport_!” 

They watched as the dog bounded after the ball at top speed. 

“Need I remind you that he threatened to commit suicide?” 

“It was the best way to force their hand. In his situation, I would have done _exactly_ the same. I think he might be the kind of guy who weighs _all_ the options and then choses the logical one—however horrible it turns out to be. _Braaf,_ Bear, _braaf._ ” He took the ball back from Bear and then looked back at Finch. “People like that don’t grow on trees. Phenomenal situational awareness _and_ he’s hella sneaky… If I were still in the Army, I’d want him in training for my unit.”

“Hmm. I don’t mean to disparage your former calling, Mr Reese, but it would be a shame for someone with his tremendous potential to benefit the entire human race to spend it all serving one country.” 

“No offense taken.” Reese mused on this for a moment. “Finch… I’m not aware of the Machine ever calling anyone ‘necessary’ before, except _maybe_ you. Do you have any idea what it means?”

“I wonder about that myself. I made the Machine to protect people. That’s it’s whole reason for existence.” 

“The Machine has decided it needs Peter for that?” 

“I suspect so.” 

  


The pang of jealousy Peter felt when he saw Flash with Missy's gorgeous friend vanished when he saw the grim look on Flash's face. 

“Go get him, tiger,” said Missy's friend. She shot a smirk at Peter and sauntered into the classroom. 

Apparently, the need for secrecy was not the first thing on his (not boyfriend's?) mind, because Flash stalked up to him. 

“Parker. We need to talk. Right now.” 

Peter felt a twinge of alarm squeeze his chest. Flash jerked his head toward a corner of the hall near the stairs. 

“I see you made a new friend,” said Peter. 

“Sparrow is _not_ my friend.” Flash put his hand on the wall next to his head and loomed over him, glaring down and breathing like he'd just done a 30-yard sprint. “Did you threaten to jump off a six-story building last night?”

“…Nno?” 

Flash looked frankly disbelieving and more than a little pissed off. “Try again.” 

“It was more like _fall_ off than— Oh, come _on_! I wasn’t _serious_!”

“Why?” 

“I wasn't really going to kill myself. I just needed to keep their attention while the cops rescued Aunt May.” 

“So he wasn't lying.” 

“Who wasn't…?” His eyes narrowed. “Finch.” 

“He said his name was Byrd.” 

“Close enough. What's he like?” 

“Kind of old. Thin, glasses, nice suit. Walks with a limp. He mentioned 'associates'; he works with Riley for sure.” 

“What did he sound like?” 

“Soft voice, a lot of big words.” 

“It's Finch, I'll bet you anything.” 

“Whatever. He's Gen's boss, and—” 

“She's not a student?” Peter looked toward the classroom in alarm. 

“I guess she is now, but she's not happy about it. He put her here to watch us. Well, watch you, really.” Flash sighed. “It's OK. I don't think they're dangerous. They know about your dad's math thing, but they don't want it.” 

“That's what he said last night. Well, he didn't _say_ that, but he didn't act all that interested. What _do_ they want?”

“To make me get my head shrunk.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Yeah. They think my tendency to be an asshole is a problem.” 

“Oh.” 

“I wonder if Spider-man has to deal with this crap.” 

Peter grinned. “I bet he does. The dude's crazy.” 

Flash grinned back. “That's why the chicks dig him.” 

  


“Maybe we should get some bright spandex costumes, Harold. Shake things up a bit.” 

“Please, John.” Finch cut the connection to Flash’s cell. “Spider-man may be a hero, but his fashion sense is terrible.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! Of course, comments, criticism and advice are welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Mark Lawson was introduced in the Season 1 episode 6 of Person of Interest (The Fix). It's also the first episode to feature Zoe Morgan.


End file.
